
V 


v 


\ ' 

; y-V 

4 ' a ^ ■'?.?'* <o v 'V % ^5!T‘ * ^ 

^ o .A . 1 1 * . o v c 0 " * •. U o jfr 

<T %. . <- ° .A 




\X 4^ 

o V 




\0 ^ 7 * * 

❖ * 

/ y 

> ,«v <•„ ■> v , 

t jsPM ^ <* ^ «, *■ 





**o« r-^n». • 

# 

lA 

X » «/* 

<^A * 

> C • • 

*fK. a - ^ t 
c c/ * 

4 ^ ^ ° o v jf)\r * 

* A° ^ ^-tvT % A <\ '*•>* 

r 0 0 " e ♦ ^O A^ « *■ ' * * 






A 

c\ <0 * * • • * 







v A • mivA t 'V o 

\ \ 2 
O 


O • A 


«* ^ v . 

< ,A ^ - 



'V ' * • 

O \ V - t ' * ^ <£ k 

<\ o a * + 

* \N * &(4[//?> ~jr 

° ^ • Fwyy « * $ 

X 0 *7*, * * 4 O 

o * * „ . « * ,0 ; <7^ ''«- 4.^ o 

* 2 * ' . •_ < 5 ^ ° * O < V < 7 , *»|1 




<5> - a * o 

■••°' Sf, * 0 \*i;rk> > A .>•»- ^ 

■?► .4*6*^'. .-fc .Va^^.V •?>, 

o ^1* A 

.* A % 



« A v ^< 

,» V ' 




• • ’ \ 

A> 9 L I Q 

S* * 

: *o v* . 

>>° • 

* r\ 

.0 <j> » » , o 

aO »' * • % *> 

<• ■-#> ^ •*> 



\ '%>_ ,$ ' 


i /* 

'-p S 


* V '7* 






*9‘ ,*’•% ^ ^ v - * ^ 

V V ^ <V *■ 

>*<a 4v * rlw «# //i ” v. <* 

: W .•»«! 

" c 1 ^ ^v. 

' * 47 vJ ^> . 

.* rV V %, 

’ y 

* o j^> t 

-. '’o v* ; 

° «5 c !<. 

• K *. 

^ ° * 0 ° ^ °<p * " 1 * ’ £° * O H 0 ■ 


*.° y 



* s$y <?, ,, A ^v^.*_ a*^ <•. . <- 


* *7 A v 



vp. ,V 



















O W L S 


OF 

The Always Open 


GY 1TOYEL. 

Jk 

■% V' 

mpr 

B Y B. IT. C HIT r E N D E N. 
M 


Man errs so long as he doth strive! 

* * * * 

Him we can save from error's maze 
Who takes the pains to strive always. 

GOETHE. 


PUBLISHED BYTHE 


AUTHOR. 


Brook lye. 
. 1883 . 


MnxE'i OF 

MAR 28 1883 ' 

-WASHlN®\ 


(’. 0. Whitney’s , steam Print. 


.CA* 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, 

By R. H. Chittenden, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D! C. 


PROLOGUE. 


One afternoon in May, twenty-five years ago, my 
friend Burton Heyward, a Yale medical student, now 
one of the most successful physicians in Brooklyn, en- 
tered the Law library, without knocking, and found me 
engaged in a desperate struggle with Chitty. 

“Come, Phil., let us throw physic and law to the dogs, 
and read a chapter in Nature’s book of Revelations. 
There is not a cloud to be seen, and the view from East 
Rock will be magnificent.” 

“Agreed,” I replied, grasping Heyward’s extended 
hand, “on one condition.” 

“Name it.” 

“You shall not again ask me to hold the candle while 
you dissect your abominable subject. Last night I 
dreamt that the poor negro came to life under your 
scalpel, and wished to retain me to prosecute you for a 
post mortem assault.” 

“Agreed, provided you will answer me this: Why 
is it that one most desires to do what he cannot well 
do ?” 

“Please illustrate your proposition,” said I, as we 
descended from the old Law Building and took our way 
to the Rock. 


4 


PROLOGUE. 


‘•Well,* 1 continued Heyward, “I am passionately fond 
of poetry and cannot write a line." 

“It is your natural impulse toward symmetrical de- 
velopment,” I remarked sententiously. 

“Now you must illustrate, Phil.” said Heyward. 

“Well Burt, imagine a young man who has inherited 
a perfect organization, with one exception. He cannot 
make music. He has it in his soul, hut he cannot ex- 
press it. He exaggerates the value of the art and re- 
gards the musician with envy and admiration. He re- 
solves to acquire it. He neglects the study of medicine 
for which he is well adapted, and expends his time and 
labor in becoming a poor fiddler. He is deficient in time 
and tune, but he cannot resist the natural impulse to 
supply the want.” 

“That is to say,” interrupted Heyward, “The greater 
the resistance the heavier the pressure. Therefore i 
shall not be surprised when you desert your jealous 
mistress Law, to court the muses. 1 hope we shall not 
be rivals !” 

Meanwhile we had crossed the bridge, and entered 
the pine wood which skirts the base of the mountain. 
Emerging from the wood we observed a singular per- 
son cross our path and disappear in a thicket. He wore 
a blye blouse, trousers half hidden within high top 
boots, and a slouch hat with a broad brim. He bore a 
weapon in his right hand, and seemed to be in pursuit 
of some object which had escaped our attention. Our 
curiosity was aroused. We quickened our pace and 
soon again saw the stranger crawling on all fours to- 
ward a wild blackberry bush in bloom. Having ap- 
proached within a few feet of the bush, the stranger 


PROLOGUE. 


D 


aimed at what appeared to be a large butterfly, then 
suddenly arose, darted forward and covered it with his 
hat. Having examined his prize with evident satisfac- 
tion, he imprisoned it in a tin case which he drew from 
his blouse pocket. Producing a vial he loaded his wea- 
pon with a colorless liquid, raised his eyes, and for the 
first time saw that he was observed. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” said Heyward, *‘we have been 
so rude as to watch your movements. We wish to 
learn what you have caught, and how you shot it with 
a pistol that makes no report. Is it an air gun ?” 

The hunter bowed respectfully, scrutinized us for a 
moment, and replied: “I will show you, gentlemen. I 
have here a fine specimen to add to my collection of 
lepidoptera. By means of this syringe I adminis- 
tered to him a dose of chloroform. He is therefore un- 
conscious of his misfortune and not a feather is in- 
jured.” 

“You are a naturalist, I suppose,” I enquired. 

“lam a taxidermist, sir; what are you?” replied the 
butterfly hunter. 

“I am nothing but a lawyer in embryo.” Thereupon 
I introduced to him my friend. 

“Well, gentlemen, years ago I was a student of med- 
icine, but having a stronger love for birds, bugs, and 
beetles than drugs, I became a bird stuffer ! Come and 
see me when you visit Brooklyn. Richard Owler, at 
your service. Good day.” 

So saying our new acquaintance departed and was 
soon lost to view. 

“There goes a man worth knowing,” exclaimed Hey- 
ward. 


PROLOGUE. 


6 

“Wliy so, 1 ’ I asked. 

“He is wise enough to follow his bent,’ was the an- 
swer. “Why should a man spend his life in learning 
what he cannot do. 11 

“But such are the men whom the world will not per- 
mit to live/' said I. 

Having climbed to the summit of the Rock we con- 
templated long and silently the wonderful scene. 

Finally Heyward broke the silence : 

“Phil., in childhood we were playmates, together 
we are students. Let us both make the city of churches 
our home, and fight the battle of life side by side. 11 

“So be it, old fellow, 11 and we clasped hands. 

Ten years had passed away ere I again saw Professor 
Owler. 

On an excursion to Lloyd’s Neck, having shot a large 
grey owl, and wishing to place it on my library case to 
impress clients with due respect for my professional 
wisdom, I was reminded of the taxidermist. Calling at 
his house I was met at the door by a colored man. 

“Walk in, Boss. De Professor is up. Come down, 
Professor. Here is an owl, and de counsellor. ” 

The taxidermist descended from an upper room and 
greeted me politely. 

He did not recognize me. Ten years had left few traces 
on his face, but many ou mine. His head was bald and 
he wore a long grey beard. I exhibited the owl. 

“A fine specimen, 11 said he, his eyes glistening with 
delight behind his spectacles. “What! hit in the eye with 
a rifle ball ! You are a good shot. Perhaps you bought 
him? Well, he shall be immortalized. 1 have just re- 
ceived some splendid eyes that will look as wise as those 


PROLOGUE. 


7 

they will replace. I beg pardon. Charles, place a chair 
for the gentleman. What name, sir ?” 

“We have met before, Professor.” 

The Professor laid the bird carefully on a table, re- 
moved and wiped his glasses, adjusted them and de- 
liberately surveyed me for at least a minute, while 
Charles stuffed a handkerchief into his capacious mouth 
to suppress a laugh. 

•‘No sir,” said the Professor, at last. “I believe you 
are mistaken.” 

‘*Do you not remember chloroforming a specimen at 
New Haven ten years ago,” I inquired. 

“Yes, yes ! No. 2345. Bless my soul! How you are 
changed !” 

I gave him my card. 

“Attorney and Counsellor at Law, full fledged. I am 
delighted to see you again. Your old med-i-cal friend is 
my phy-si-cian.” 

Here the old man’s breath failed. His face flushed 
and I started to his support. He waved me away and 
finally, with a pause between each syllable; ejaculated, 
"'Don't be alarmed. I am having a hard tussle with 
my hereditary foe.” 

“With whom?” 1 asked. 

“Asth — ma, but I shall get the best of it at last, if it 
kills me !” The old mail drew from a box a pastile, 
placed one end in a tin holder, lighted the other end, 
and supported by Charles, inhaled the pungent fumes. 
Being soon relieved he resumed : 

•’Now, Mr. May, I am ready for business. One week 
from to-day your owl will be ready to make his debut , as 
the artists say. You may place him on your desk and 


PROLOGUE. 


cross-examine him as much as you please, you will 
never look him out of countenance. 11 

On my way to my room I speculated concerning the 
Professor. Manifestly he was a man of culture and 
genuine refinement. The acquaintance thus renewed 
was continued for several years. His house was a small 
cottage, having two rooms on the ground floor and one 
above. In the lower rooms he worked, cooked, ate and 
slept, in the upper room was his collection of specimens, 
books and papers. His collection of butterflies filled a 
dozen cases. Each specimen was skillfully mounted and 
labeled. He never alluded to his personal history. For 
aught I ever knew he had no kin. His sole assistant was 
Charles Brown, formerly a slave. Charles once informed 
me that the Professor had been an officer of the famous 
Brooklyn Thirteenth Regiment. The Professor's sole 
correspondents were naturalists engaged in his favorite 
pursuit, from whom he had received books and pam- 
phlets in several languages. 

He repeatedly declined invitations to dine with me, 
and if perchance we met on the street he simply nod- 
ded his recognition and passed on. Finally in 1876 
I lost sight of him. A friend of mine had sent 
me from Santa Barbara, a specimen of Lawrence's 
goldfinch, which had been somewhat injured in trans- 
portation. Therefore I again sought the home of the 
taxidermist. He was gone. The cottage was occupied 
by strangers, who informed me that the old bird stuffer, 
(as they called him), had become too poor to pay his 
rent and had gone into the woods. 

I sought for him in vain, and finally placed his name 
in the list of erratic persons whom I have known during 


PJROLOGUE . 




my professional life, and who have crossed its path 
never again to return. 

One Saturday night I reached my room exhausted by 
the labor of the week, hut thankful for the coming, day 
of rest. A telegram was placed in my hands from the 
New Haven Chief of Police, requesting my presence. 
Ten o’clock found me in the Elm City. 

“ J ust in time, Mr. May. He is trying to hold out un- 
til you come,” was the Chiefs greeting as I alighted 
from the train. 

“Who is it?” I enquired. 

“I do not know. He is an old man, and very ill. 
Perhaps I have done wrong in' sending for you. He 
was brought in last night, found on the Green in an 
unconscious condition. He is unable to speak, but 
wrote your address and earnestly requested your pres- 
ence.” 

Calling a cab we were speedily driven to the police 
station. 

The Chief led the way to an upper room, devoted to 
transient lodgers. On a cot, near the window, lay an 
old man, pale, emaciated and evidently about to die. 

“Do you know him, sir,” asked the Chief. 

I gazed at the wrinkled face long and earnestly. The 
bald head and long unkempt beard were familiar. “I 
believe I have seen him,” I an s veered. 

The surgeon in attendance administered a stimulant 
and the patient opening his eyes gazed at me with a 
look of recognition. 

“Mr. May has come. Do you know him?” inquired 
the surgeon. 


10 


PROLOGUE. 


A smile of recognition stole over the old man's face. 
With the last effort he slowly raised his right arm and 
pointed toward a table whereon lay a roll of manu- 
script. 

I approached the table and read: 

'‘The Owls of The Always Open; 

By R. Owler , taxidermist'' 

“My God, is it you, Professor?" I exclaimed, grasping 
the dying man’s hand. 

He could not reply, but with a smile of satisfaction 
departed. 

“Too late ! He is gone P said the Chief. 

Said the surgeon to me, “He died of starvation P 

All the way home rang in my ears, these lines of 
Goethe : 

Wie schwer bind nieht die Mittel /ai erwerben, 

Dprcli die man zu den Quellen steigt! 

Und eh’ man nur den haiben Weg erreicht, 

Muss wolil ein armer Teufel sterben. 

How hard to win the means whereby 
Man upward climbs to whence the fountains flow! 

And ere he only can the half way go. 

Well !— a poor devil he must die! 


THE OWLS OF THE ALWAYS OPEN. 

BY B. OWLER , TAXIDERMIST. 

I. 

If any other shall read this memoir, he will find 
therein little concerning the nocturnal bird of wisdom ; 
but some reflections upon certain varieties of the strix 
hutnana whose habits I have observed during my resi- 
dence in this city of churches and divorces. Plato, the 
Greek, defined man to be a featherless biped. Being an 
American and therefore familiar with modern researches 
in ornithology, 1 pronounce man to be an owl. The 
doctor says a live fool is worth more than a dead phil- 
osopher, intending to suggest that none but an astrono- 
mer, or a policeman, should make night observations, 
and that so long as I live I may reform my ways, for 
like most of his brethren, he rejects the dogma of a 
posthumous purgatory. The varieties of the human owl 
to be found in Brooklyn, are numerous and distinguish- 
ed by peculiar characteristics. Some are birds of wisdom, 
others of folly; some are working, others preying birds; 
some are gregarious, others solitary ; some are hungry, and 
almost all thirsty; some seek profit, most pleasure; some 
are homeless, others abandon their homes and seek the 
haunts of vice, and now and then one prefers the place 
of prayer. The city hall clock strikes three ! The 
wagon of the farmer rolls over the fraudulent wooden 
pavement to the ferry. The corner grocer's follows ! 


12 


THE OWLS OF 


The milkman begins his route. The doctor's buggy 
bears him rapidly on his mission of mercy. Four 
o’clock ! A ragpicker with bag and hook pauses to ex- 
amine the contents of the barrel opposite ! The news- 
man with a bundle of morning papers hurries to his 
stand. The dawn breaks and the stars pale. The 
gambler closes his game. The magdalen hurries home; 
the lamp lighter begins his round; and Abel, night 
clerk of The Always Open, turns off the gas. “(rood 
morning, Abel, and a good day’s rest.’' 


II. 

It is my misfortune to be an asthmatic. Therefore I 
am compelled to pursue my favorite science in the city 
where there are few hills to climb, and where I can 
sketch the birds without taking their lives. The doc- 
tor says that it is not a misfortune to suffer from asth- 
ma; that my best memoirs have been written under its 
abnormal stimulus; that I have utilized much time lost 
by less fortunate sleepers; that I have excellent oppor- 
tunities for the exercise of the virtue of patience, and 
that many a great man, like William of Orange, was an 
asthmatic. But, nevertheless, I still insist that a man 
may wheeze and not be great, and that capital punish- 
ment by strangulation ought not to last one’s life time, 
* — a remark I once made in the doctor’s hearing, who 
responded that the best medical authorities agree that 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


13 


tlie end of life and asthma are cotemporaneous events. 
In fact I have been told that life insurance companies 
are fond of genuine asthmatic owls. If ever I have 
money and become incapable of investing it, I shall 
perhaps employ some respectable retired capitalist, and 
pay him a good salary to distribute it among agents, 
lawyers, receivers and lobbyists. 

Sleep after midnight being impossible, except under 
the influence of an anesthetic or opiate, I regularly arise, 
take my stout stick for a weapon, and walk to The 
Always Open, calling at Myers 1 by the way for a cup of 
coffee. Coffee, by the way, is a specific for my ailment, 
though not effective in severe spasms. Temporary re- 
lief is obtained not from the commissioners of Charity, 
but by purchasing a box of Astlimacea and inhaling its 
fume. One morning in the smallest hour, I summoned 
the doctor. He came promptly, and found me much 
depressed in spirit, wheezing like a locomotive and 
nearly speechless. As well as possible I requested him 
to shoot me ! 

"Shoot you I 11 he exclaimed. “Til shoot you in the 
arm with a hyperderm ic injection of morphine. Now 
Professor, cheer up ! I never heard of a dead asthmatic 
who had not outlived ail his cotemporaries ! You will 
live to write a dozen monograms on the potato bug f 

1 -But how — can — a— man— out — live — his — co— tem- 
po — ra — ries ?” I gasped. 

"By not being hypercritical, and doing as I prescribe. 
Send for this bromide, bathe your feet in warm water, 
let that poison alone / 1 said the doctor, pointing to a 
vial of chloroform, “and remember that whatever is. is 
right 


14 


THE OWLS OF 


“My friend,” I whispered indignantly, the sweat 
streaming down my face, “you are a good phy-si-cian,' 
here I lost my breath for a minute, while the doctor 
anxiously watched me, “but in phi — phi — ” 

“Never mind what I am — don’t try to tell me,” he 
interrupted. 

“In phi-los-o-phy, you’re — you’re — ” 

“For Heaven’s sake, Professor, let it out if you must !” 
shouted the doctor, for once losing his professional equa- 
nimity. 

“An ass !” I whispered, and sank back in my chair 
exhausted. 


III. 

The Always Open is the northern limit of my noe- 
tural walk, and one of my most fruitful fields of obser- 
vation, for at certain hours it is the resort of various 
kinds of human owls. It is located on the corner form- 
ed by the intersection of Franklin and Jefferson streets, 
and were its roof parallel with the floor, it would be, if 
solid, the frustrum of a wedge. You will observe that 
1 drop into mathematical figures as readily as Wegg 
into poetry, and for the reason that when I am wearied 
with birds, butterflies, and beetles, I turn to the noblest 
of' all sciences for recreation. Moreover I am digressive. 
When I begin to labor I never know what I shall bring 
forth, “perhaps a sang, perhaps a sermon,” or possibly a 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 


15 


treatise on puns. This reminds me that last Tuesday 
morning at two o'clock I met Counselor Lloyd near the 
city hall. Describing a peculiar curve, he finally em- 
braced the lamp post in front of the court house and ap- 
peared to me to be ill. Now why was he like me? The 
answer is obvious, that is to say, because he described a 
cycloid ! 

One day, Peter Cricket arid I, passing The Always 
Open, met an organ grinder, who, having stepped upon 
an orange peal fell, with his organ, into a hole which 
had been dug by the Elevated Railway Company. Where- 
upon the doctor, perceiving that the horrible machine 
was broken, quietly remarked that if perchance a pale- 
ontologist should pass that way he would discover or- 
ganic remains! I quietly suggested that as the whole 
is equal to all its parts, all the parts of the organ were 
not only equal to the whole, but equally in it ! Peter 
thereupon began to denounce punsters for heartless 
verbicides, and declared that in case I should perpetrate 
another he would report me to Richard Grant White, 
to which I replied as follows: 

“My dear Peter, I shall pun with impun-ity. You 
must not impugn my motives. No Indian pundit 
from his vedas, or Roman general from a victory in a 
Punic war, derived more satisfaction than I from my 
harmless puns.” 

Peter for a long time after this conversation would 
cross the street to avoid me. 

But let us return to The Always Open, which is lo- 
cated on the ground floor of a three story building, that 
is surmounted by a large mortar, holding a correspond- 
ingly large pestle, which calls to mind the ludicrous. 


THE OWLS OF 


v 16 

trio sung by the three doctors in the charming opera of 
Crispino e la Comare. Under the mortar, is the sign 
Drugs, in letters two feet long. Whether sponges, ci- 
gars, brushes, mirrors, canes, umbrellas, and soda water 
are, strictly speaking, drugs, I never enquired, but 
upon applying to General O'Toole, the Chief Detec- 
tive of the Anti-Gin-Mill Association, he informed me 
that spiritus vin gal; sp. juniperi ; sp. frimienti ; aqua 
fontana , and carbonic acid gas are not drugs anywhere 
except in a drug store ! 

The principal entrance of The Always Open is the 
apex of a triangle, or more accurately the rhomboid 
formed by the base of the building, and commands a 
view of the city hall, the new composite municipal 
edifice, and the sober, intelligent and industrious gentle- 
men who assemble in front of the court house to de- 
vise plans to promote the public welfare. I have ascer- 
tained that after long and profound deliberation they 
have discovered a panacea, pro bono publico . which may 
be formulated: "Give me a bone and the city shall be 
saved !’ A bone signifies a sinecure clerkship in the 
wafer board for a modest politician, a nomination for 
the assembly, or congress, for a more ambitious patriot, 
or a large fee for a conscientious lawyer, either to de- 
fend public plunderers, or not to prosecute them. To 
do, or not to do, that is the question. In either case 
the taxpayers, not tlie plunderers, are checked. 

One midnight last year I saw the crescent moon, in 
conjunction with Venus, crowning the statue of Justice 
which stands on the hall tower patiently holding her 
^caies. By day as well as night I have watched those 
scales. They never move. This peculiarity is the more 


THE A L WA YS OPEN. 


17 


remarkable for the reason that the judges who preside 
over the wretched suitors below, have long been distin- 
guished for their sobriety, learning, and impartiality. 
Moreover, beneath also sit the aldermanic councilors 
who, by their disinterested and decorous appropriations, 
have rendered their office a prize of civic virtue, always 
awarded to the wisest and best citizen in his ward. 
These grave and reverend sages, some of whom have 
expended thousands of dollars for the privilege of serv- 
ing their fellow citizens, have been known to suffer im- 
prisonment. by the order of a court, not fully impressed 
with the paramount necessity of donating the streets of 
Brooklyn to the enterprising Simon Smiley, and his 
public spirited associates of the Lightning Transit Rail- 
way Company. My negro boy Charles has come at 
last: As usual he entered without knocking, and has 
heard me read aloud what 1 have written. 

•'Pray enable me to find De Wit in dere, Boss,” says 
he. 

"You will find him a little removed from a perpendic- 
ular raised from the floor of the hall to the feet of the 
judicial female who holds the scales!” I replied. 

"A roe shad. Boss ?” 

“Charles, black my boots, and never make puns. It is 
the lowest form of De Wit, 7 said I. 

“Read some more, Boss.” continued Charles kneeling 
before me. “De style and de discontent of de matter 
rouses my ebony easier ? 

“Your what?” I enquired. 

"That’s what Brudder Samson calls it!” 

“You mean Ebenezer, perhaps.” 

•‘Yes, dats it, Boss. But do you know why de wit of 
your sermon minds me of Brudder Samson ?” 


18 


THE OWLS OF 


“No, what of him, Charles?” I asked. 

“De more he was not wanted by de Bethel ration—” 

“You mean corporation, Charles.” 

“De core-for-ration, right Boss, de more de sisters 
stuck to him. Minds me of Posel Paul and sister Phebe. 
Which side is de corn? Gosh 1 never will have a sis- 
ter till I gine de church. Hand me de udder foot.” 
Charles grasped my left foot and squeezed it fearfully 
and burst into loud laughter. 

“What do you mean, Charles?” 

“Why, haven’t you heard of the colored Bethel law 
suit? You see Boss, Parson Samson is a' wonderful 
preacher. Gosh, how he can stir up de sinners. Last 
time I heard him his text was: Evil ram-fi-cations, rip 
up good manners. Oh, how he did lay it down. Dere 
1 guess dat’l do, Boss. You can see your face in em. 
Dis was de way of it. De parson had rented de Bethel 
and took de paper to himself. Well de sisters dey wanted 
to get up a fair to pay de rent, and de deacons and de 
core-for-ration was agin it powerful strong. And so de 
fight began — and de sisters all stood by de parson— and 
de bredren all stood gel us togedder I spose, and told him. 
to get out — and de parson he sed he wouldn’t get out. 
And he got me to make up abed for him in de Bethel; 
I’m a great friend to him and his missus — and dere he 
staid all de time, night and day, and de sisters brought 
him his meals — all warm and nice. And sometimes 
Missus Samson invited me to eat wid em — and den de 
core-for-ration hired a big lawyer who gave de parson a 
bad conjunction — ” 

“Injunction, Charles.” 

“Right, Boss, and de parson want he mad. He said he 
would bold the fort agin de core-for-ration, de flesh and 


THE AL WA YE OPEN. 19 

*le debbil, dat lie would win wid de sword of de Lord 
and Gid — Gid — ” 

“Gideon, Charles.” 

“Right Boss, dat was de name of de swordsman — and 
he did hold de fort till de colored suit was won — and 
den want de bredren gelus! Oh, my ! And toward de 
last de parson got gelus too!” 

“What, did Parson Samsom become jealous — of 
whom — not you, Charles,” I gasped. 

“Professor, if ’tis all de same to you I’ll tell you later. 
Now you have got de asthma agin’ laughin.’ 

“Well, Charles, I— don’t— feel — like — laugh — ing. 

I feel blue this morning !” 

“ Parbleu /” exclaims the doctor who has come in also 
without knocking. “So you are wheezing again ? Why 
don’t you mount yourself and label the specimen: “The 
skin of Richard Owler, which, unlike Oriental bottles, 
has held less water than — ” 

‘•Than — what,” I gasped, and vainly attempted to 
rise. But the doctor continued remorslessly— 

“Wine! and underneath the label will be read: 

Now cured at last old Owler sings, 

That taxidermist clever ; 
lie boards at Satan’s sulphur springs 
To wheeze no more forever ! 

Be easy. Cheer up Professor! The millennium is not far 
away when the scales of justice shall no longer be re- 
quired. You are a warm admirer of Dr. Yates of 
Shady Place church. Who can tell just how many of 
the great pyramidal years must elapse before the lion 
and the lamb shall lie down together?” 


THE OWLS OF 


30 

- 1 — ] 10 pe —I — shall — live — -to— visit- — the — mena- 
gerie !” 

"Now that will do for the present! The sun will 
isoon rise and you will breathe more freely.*’ So saying 
the doctor departed. 


IV. 

That sign, "Always Open,*' was a most happy thought. 

I bow to the unknown author. He is a poet as well as 
a pharmaceutist. Think of it: an apothecary shop as 
eternal as the earth ball we tread! 

generations come and go; you and I shall close our 
eyes in death, but the glowing orbs of this sleepless 
thing of night are always open. Still the thought is 
oppressive. Could a cyclone demolish, or fire destroy it 
without loss to its owner: could there be even an 
hour’s interval in the succession^ of clerks in charge, it 
were perhaps a relief! As it is. I am fascinated by those 
brilliant eyes which watch the city hall clock from sun 
to sun. I approach and enter. The clock strikes four. 
Abel Alnight has just relieved the day clerks and is 
wide awake for business. There are few situations re- 
quiring a rarer combination of qualities than that of 
night clerk in charge of a metropolitan drug store. I 
so designate The Always Open, for Brooklyn is but a 
suburb of New York, now connected to the parent city 
by the wonderful bridge. He must possess not only the 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 21 

usual special knowledge of pharmacy, but prudence, pa- 
tience and forbearance. All these has Abel, and what is 
more valuable to others if not to himself, a sympathetic 
heart, which hardly permits him to say No to the nu- 
merous night applicants for aid. Moreover lie is a 
shrewd observer, and is rarely mistaken in his estimate 
of character. As I entered he was engaged in relieving' 
the wants of two thirsty customers. 

“Give me some plain soda,” ordered the larger and 
elder man. 

“Give me also plain soda with my usual tonic/' said 
the other, who, raising a long horn, thrust its smaller 
end between the loosened marble squares of The Always 
Open floor. Taking his glass he placed it in the hollow 
of the horn, and addressed his fellow customer. 

“Mis— ter —Smile and — lie! Behold that cornu-co- 
pi-a !” 

Here the speaker bent forward to take the glass, lost 
his equilibrium and narrowly escaped a fall. 

“Presented — to-night — by the Owl Club to your hum- 
ble servant as a re-ward of mer-it/’ 

“Let me warn you/’ replied the larger and older man. 
“not to drink that stimulant. Don’t you think this 
man has had enough, Mr. Alnight?” 

“I don’t express my opinion, Mr. Smiley. Ask him 
yourself. Allow me to introduce to your favorable no- 
tice Mr. Peter Cricket, otherwise on Sunday morning 
known as the Horn Spoon,’’ replied the night clerk. 
“Horn Spoon, the Honorable Simon Smiley.” 

The latter started back in disgust, while Peter, seeing 
the movement, exclaimed : 


THE OWLS OF 


2'2 

“Mr. Smile-and-lie ! Right you are! Allow me to in-fcro- 
duce you to my pa-tri-ar-chial friend, Professor Owler! 
What will you take? 1 ’ 

Mr. Smiley moved toward the door. 

“Don’t go! It is not vet the witching hour: 

O o 

When shall we tliree meet again ? 

In thunder, lightning or in rain ? 

Shakspeare. 

For Simon Smiley takes itpiain, 

So I from smiling should refrain, 

And never give the deacon pain ! 

Pea-tear. 

We've many hours before the day, 

For all we drink this lad will pay. 

Crick-et. 

O, Simon, don't leave me, 

To take mine alone, 

O, Smiley, don’t grieve me, 

For I’m all thy own. 

By the great Horn Spoon, 

You shall drink now soon. 

SpirUum frumenti, 

JBonum Sapienti.” 

As Peter concluded, Mr. Smiley thought he heard a 
dog growl behind him and sprang forward. Peter 
caught Simon Smiley by the latter’s coat collar, lost his 
footing and dragged the honorable gentleman to the 
floor. At this juncture a person appeared on the thresh- 
old who deserves a particular description. He was of 
medium height. His face was oval. Between his thick 
red lips a double row of white teeth were visible. He 
wore an ulster and felt hat, which concealed a low fore- 
head. His hair was black, and his eyes small and ferret 
like. The new comer advanced and offered to assist Mr. 
Smiley to rise. 

"Never mind, General ; pull off this vagabond,” said 
Smiley. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


23 

Peter caught the word, recognized the new comer, and 
recovered himself. 

‘‘That’s what I call free hand drawing! Never mind 
the dust Mr. Smile-and-lie. How do you do. General 
O’Toole! How is the spy business?” 

Smiley and O’Toole at once departed, the former from 
the Franklin street entrance, the latter between the 
shining eyes of The Always Open. 

Peter was sobered, and Alnight apprehensive. 

“There they go! The president of The Anti-Gin-Mill- 
Association, and its totally abstinent detective: 

Oh, ’tis a sin 
To drink bad gin, 

So I will stick to whiskey. 

Too much to-night 
Has made me tight, 

For I am full and frisky.” 

“Pete, don’t make so much noise,” said Abel. 

“Who is the large gentleman whom you called Smile 
and Lie,” I enquired. 

“Did 1? Oh, he ; s afraid of a dog! That was Deacon 
Smiley. No more ventriloquism Mr. Cricket,” observ- 
ed Abel. 

“I am going to Parson Scavenger’s meeting next 
Friday night and hear him pray for the besotted 
slaves of rum — including me. — Did any one ever know 
the deacon to assist one of the slaves to escape ?” 

A man may smile and smile, 

And be a villain still. 

Sficikspeare . 

A man may pray and prey, 

And be a deacon still. 

Pea-tear. 

“Did O’Toole see me drink, Abel,?” asked Peter. 


24 


THE OWLS OF 


At this moment a policeman appeared at the door, 
and having been provided with soda, remarked to Peter 
in a low tone: 

“Horn Spoon, O'Toole is around. You make too 
much noise. Must take you in if you don’t dry up. 
Mr. Owler, you seem to know Mr. Cricket, will you at- 
tend to him ? It is late — I mean early— and the rounds- 
man will be here in ten minutes / 1 and the speaker 
glanced at the hall clock. 

“Certainly / 1 said I, “he is one of my most remarkable 
specimens. Come Peter, the day will soon dawn, let us 
be going / 1 

“Will you be seen with me? By the great Horn 
Spoon! Farewell. I’ll see you later, that is earlier. 
The best of friends must part! Next Sabbath morning, 
if alive, I shall again behold your countenance, always 
open, always." 

“Right side up with care, 1 ' said I, taking Peter’s arm. 
“Forward march . 11 Peter seized the horn, and with my 
aid managed to keep the step, and soon we found our- 
selves opposite Jones’ saloon. Here my attention was 
arrested by the passage of a cab containing two men 
whom I recognized by the light of the street lamp as 
the Reverend Samuel Scavenger and Sergeant John 
Sharp of the detective force. Hardly had I recovered 
from my astonishment at the sight, when my attention 
was diverted from the cab by a shriek. 

Turning my eyes toward Jones 1 I saw through the 
half opened door two figures, one a man of thirty, the 
other a beautiful girl of eighteen. The former’s face 
was flushed with wine. It was by no means repulsive, 
although bearing the imprint of uncontrolled passions. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


His dark hair was unkempt, his coat torn and his eyes 
flashed with* anger. 

“Do cOme. Harry! Don't stay here longer. For God’s 
sake keep your promise to me,” pleaded the girl, as 
she caught hold of him. 

With a sweep of his muscular arm the man cast the 
girl to the floor, and rushed back to the rear of the 
saloon. I entered the saloon, followed by my compan- 
ion, and assisted the girl to rise, who exclaimed: 

“Oh save him. save him, sir!” 

“Do you know that man, ’’said I, gazing with astonish- 
ment into her face. “That is Hawk Johnson! What 
are you doing with him?” 

“Oh let me go! They will kill him! Know him. sir? 
He’s my husband,” shrieked the girl. 

“By the great Horn Spoon,” said Peter, in a tone of 
suppressed excitement. 

At this moment Officer Sea well passed, exclaiming: 
“The game is up, Johnson!” 

“No. you don’t take me this time, I’m not the man.” 

A pistol shot, — Seawell falls,— the door is opened and 
Johnson like a flash darts out into the street and disap- 
pears. 

“My God, he has shot the officer,!” shrieked the girl 
and swooned in my arms. 

“By the great Horn Spoon,” said Peter. 

“Here, care for the girl, Peter: let me see how badly 
the officer is hurt. Mr. Cricket, are you too drunk to 
help a poor woman in distress ?” 

Peter started and exclaimed: “My God, Lora! ’tis she! 
my poor lost LoraJ” and he clasped her unconscious 
form in his arms. 


THE OWLS OF 


“What do you mean sir, are you crazy?” 

“Let. us take her to The Always Open. Professor!” 

Peter, now perfectly sober, raised Lora, and gently 
bore her away from Jones’, as the police surgeon arrived 
to care for the wounded officer. I picked up the horn 
which Peter had dropped and followed him. Abel com- 
prehended the situation at a glance, in a twinkling 
provided a chair for Lora and administered a restora- 
tive. 

“Do you know her. Professor?” asked Abel. 

I shook my head. 

“I have seen her here with Hawk Johnson. He in- 
troduced her as his wife!” said Abel in a low tone. 

Lora opened her eyes, gazed long and intently at Pe- 
ter, ( who stood stupefied ) .and then covering her face 
with her hand sobbed as if her heart were breaking. 

“Where did you find her?” inquired Abel, looking at 
me. 

"Find her, I exclaimed, "In a saloon with Johnson.” 

“Who and what is she ?” 

“Don’t tell him!” shouted Peter and shrieked Lora. 

"What does all this mean, Mr. Cricket?” I de- 
manded, 

Peter did not reply, but bending addressed Lora in a 
low tone: “Lora, come home!” 

“Oh. don’t ask me! I cannot! must not!” 

"You shall ! Come too, Professor,” said Peter, and taking 
Lora by the arm he almost forced her from The Always 
Open. We entered a car passing up Franklin street, and 
rode in silence, while Lora veiled her face and continued 
to weep. As we crossed Oxford street the beams of the 
rising sun entered the car, and I sa\Y that Peter’s arm 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 27 

still supported her. Soon the conductor extinguished the 
lamps. I was not sorry that there were no other passen- 
gers. On our way Peter spoke but once: 

“Two politicians in one night. Simon Smiley and 
Hawk Johnson. Lora found at last! and his wife! 
By the great Horn Spoon !” 

Lora’s distress increased, but she uttered not a 
word. Twenty minutes later the conductor stopped the 
car and we alighted opposite Peter’s residence. 


V. 

The home of Peter Cricket is an old fashioned Dutch 
farm house, located on the corner of Spendwell 
Boulevard and James street. The adjoining lots 
are nearly overgrown with weeds and shrubs. But here 
and there are beds of flowers, the special care of Ruth, 
Peter’s sister. Here Peter was born forty years ago. and 
here Ruth and he had lived to see the town grow to be 
a city and gradually extend itself until it had included 
their once suburban home. Peter, Ruth, two servants, 
Bridget and Hans, and Bruno, a large Saint Bernard 
dog, were the occupants of this modest dwelling. The 
sole drawbacks to their happiness were Peter’s unfortu- 
nate habit of becoming intoxicated every Saturday 
night, and an assessment upon the lots and dwelling for 
the paving of the Boulevard for an amount nearly 
equivalent to the value of the property. 


28 


THE OWLS OF 


u My sister is still asleep, I suppose,” said Peter, glanc- 
ing at the window of the front chamber. Lora stood 
facing the East where the sun was about to emerge 
from behind golden edged clouds. She seemed to me 
to be wondrously beautiful. I was reminded of Gretchen, 
neither the queenly Margaret of Kellogg nor Goethe’s 
unsophisticated heroine of the garden scene, ere she sac- 
rificed herself for love, but the maiden at the well, sor- 
rowing and repentant. Her form was of medium height 
and well developed. Auburn hair fell in ringlets down 
her neck. Her blue eyes glistened with tears. She 
was richly and tastefully dressed. Evidently her brutal 
companion had been liberal. Peter placed his hand 
upon the garden gate and beckoned us to follow. 

“Come, Lora." * • 

At the sound of Peter’s voice she started, turned sud- 
denly, and in a tone I can never forget, exclaimed : 

“I cannot go in, Mr. Cricket! How can I see Miss 
Ruth ? Dear, good Peter, my more than father, 1 beg you 
to let me go! I am lost! lost! Harry is not my husband! 
You now know what I am!” 

Having thus spoken she lied down the boulevard. 
Peter, taken by surprise, paused for a moment, and then 
ran in pursuit. Like an affrighted doe the poor girl 
ran from her best friend and would have escaped but for 
an accident. Her foot was caught between the frag- 
ments of a broken paving stone, and she fell heavily. We 
bore her into the house and laid her on a sofa. Though 
suffering intense pain she was perfectly conscious. 

“Stay with her, Professor, wdiile I call Ruth,” said 
Peter. 


THE AL IT A VS OPEN. 


29 

'*Sir. ’ said Lora to me, as soon as Peter had left the 
room. 44 T am very much obliged to you. Will you 
grant me one more favor?" 

“Anything in my power,** I replied. 

“Please order a carriage and escort me to the city hos- 
pital. 1 can pay for it." 

“Miss Lora." said I. “you will doubtless receive the 
l>est of care here. Mr. ('racket and his sister are your 
friends.’ ‘ 

She interrupted me. “Oh. can you not understand 
that my presence here will greatly embarrass them ? Oh, 
must 1 repeat it. sir? I am not tit to stay here!" 

“Miss Lora." said 1 earnestly. “1 do not know your 
history, except from what 1 have seen and heard this 
morning, ft is enough for me to know that you suffer 
and need aid. You must not forget that Jesus of Naz- 
areth associated with publicans and sinners to save 
them from their sins." 

She covered her face with her hands, and I saw the 
tears fall on her heaving bosom. 1 was surprised at 
Peters delay and suggested to Lora that I would send at 
once for a surgeon. 

“No. no, wait, wait!" said she, in great distress. 

Peter had knocked at his sister's chamber door and 
requested her presence in the library. He waited blit a 
few moments when Ruth appeared. One glance at the 
face of Peter, who stood leaning on the mantle, assured 
bis sister that something unusual had occurred: more- 
over she was surprised to find him sober. 

“Ruth, Lora is here." said Peter. 

“Did you say Lora is here? Let me go to her." 


THE OWLS OF 


30 

“Wait a moment, Ruth: perhaps you will not wish to 
meet her.” 

“Why not, Peter/’ exclaimed Ruth in amazement, 
and sank in an old. arm chair which stood behind her. 

Peter hesitated. He would fain hide the truth, but 
he could not. 

“She is suffering from an accident, and needs surgical 
aid at once; but, my good sister, I found her in the so- 
ciety of a man who, I fear, is not her husband, and per- 
haps you will not deem it best to keep her here.” 

“Do you mean, Peter, that she is a magdalen?” asked 
Ruth, and a blush mantled her pale face. 

Peter nodded and tears flowed down his cheeks. Ruth 
saw them, arose, took her brother’s hand in hers, and 
said quietly and firmly: 

“Peter, lead me to her; we will care tor Lora in our 
own home!” 

A minute later Ruth and Peter entered the parlor. 
Ruth knelt by Lora’s side, gently drew the latter’s hands 
from her face, kissed her, and whispered: 

“We are glad you are home again, my child/’ 

“I will send for Doctor Heyward at once,” said Peter 
to his sister, as he and I retired to the library. 

“Hans,” said he to a boy whom we passed in the hall, 
“tell Bridget to get breakfast for two, and then run for 
the doctor as fast as you can/’ 

“Yah, mein Herr, Ich will ihn gleich holen,” replied 
the boy who bowed and disappeared. 

“That is a polite lad/’ I remarked. 

“Yes, but he don’t know American. Excuse me, Pro- 
fessor, I forgot to ask you to be seated,” said Peter, offer- 


31 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 

ing me a chair near a table whereon was a bust of 
Goethe, several books and writing material. 

Peter opened the window blinds to admit the morn- 
ing light, took a seat opposite me, and remained silent 
for some minutes. He was struggling to suppress his 
emotion. At last I said : “Mr. Cricket, is there aught l 
can do for you in this emergency? Perhaps I should in- 
form you that Miss Lora has requested me to send her 
to the hospital. 1 ’ 

“Never,” said Peter, leaping to his feet. “I will not 
believe she is aught but the victim of treachery.” 

Here he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“Is it you, Ruth? come in!” said my host. 

“An shure it’s me that’s here, your Honor.” was the 
response. 

“Oh, Bridget, come in!” said Peter. 

The door opened and Bridget’s honest and sorrowful 
face appeared. 

“If you plase, sir, don’t sind that Dutch spalpeen to 
me agin. He says he wants three sticks for a sigh.” 

“You did not understand, Bridget, he must have said 
in German, Fruehstueck fur zwei — which means break- 
fast for tw r o.” 

“Holy mither! why can't he larn to spake a dacent 
tongue,” and with a low courtesy Bridget retired. 

Peter Cricket opened an album, gazed intently at a 
photograph, and finally handing it to me, said: 

“Look at that.” 

It was a picture of a child whose features were those 
of Lora. Methinks I see Peter now as he sat opposite 
me. He had a noble brow, and notwithstanding heb- 
dominal potations his blue eyes were clear and full of 


THE OWLS OF 


:}o 

expression. His face was the mirror of a heart perhaps 
too unselfish for his own good. His dress was plain, 
but fashionable and 'Scrupulously neat. * His sole orna- 
ment was a diamond stud, which flashed in the sun 
light. 

“Professor,” said he. “I saw you but once, before this 
morning, at the Temple Fair, but you have won my con- 
fidence. and if you will take it, I am going to give you 
my life! Seeing that I looked mystified and apprehen- 
sive he smiled sadly and added, “my autobiography.” 

“I am glad Mr. Cricket,” said 1. “that our lines have 
converged to this point, and will not betray your con- 
fidence.'* 

Peter did not seem to notice my angular response, 
but again lapsed into silence and gazed vacantly in my 
face. His thoughts were manifestly far away. A 
gentle knock at the door recalled him to himself. He 
arose, opened the door and Dr. Heyward eiitered. 

By the great Horn Spoon! here you are already! Let 
me introduce you to my old— 1 mean my new friend — 
Professor Owler. 

"1 don't think 1 need any introduction to Professor 
Owler, Peter/ 1 said the doctor, grasping my hand. 

“Yes, I am always an owler you know, Doctor." 
said I. 

“Which accounts for your nocturnal excursion and 
your presence here,” said the Doctor, slyly glancing at 
Peter. 

“Good, by the great Horn Spoon!” exclaimed Peter, 
bringing his fist down upon the table with so much 
force that Goethe nodded assent. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


aa 


“Doctor, I have sent for you to attend my ward, a 
a young lady, who has sustained a severe injury/’ 

The doctor removed his hat and gloves, placed them 
on the mantle piece, looked at his watch, and withdrew 
as Bridget appeared on the threshold with the break- 
fast for two. 

“Begorra Doctor/' said she. “I’m glad to see the likes 
of } r e, for the lost prod-i-gal. she’s back agin and has 
broke her fut jest furninst the ankle, and Miss Ruth — ” 

“Suppose, like Brutus, you pause for a reply; let the 
doctor pass, and the professor and me take our Three 
sticks for a sigh’/’ 

Bridget reddened, carefully removed the bust, books 
- and papers, placed our repast before us and with a low 
courtesy withdrew. Peter poured for me a cup of coffee, 
unlocked a drawer, and produced a manuscript which he 
handed to me saying: 

“Professor, take that and read it. Had you asked me 
yesterday why I wrote it I could not have told you. I 
now see that if you, by its perusal, shall learn better to 
know and love us for — Lora, Ruth and me — it will have 
served a good end, we need your counsel in this emer- 
gency/’ 

Peter hastily drank a cup of coffee begged me to ex- 
cuse him, arose, walked to the window and gazed va- 
cantly into the street. 

“New York Herald, Tribune and Times,” cried a 
news-boy. 

Peter opened the window and beckoned the boy to 
approach. 

“Have you the Sun?” 

“All sold. Have a Tribune?” asked the boy. 


34 


THE OWLS OF 


“No, give me the Times.” 

Peter having paid the lad resumed his seat and hand- 
ed the paper to me. I glanced at a heading: u Almost 
a murder! Escape of the criminal,” and returned the 
newspaper to Peter. 

“By the great Horn Spoon. Here’s the affair already!” 
exclaimed Peter and read as follows : 

“A shooting affair occurred in Jones’ oyster house 
this morning at half past one, which may prove serious 
to all parties concerned. Officer Seawell while endeav- 
oring to arrest Hawk Johnson for assaulting his mis- 
tress, was shot and seriously wounded in the shoulder. 
Johnson with two of his friends, known to the police, 

• made his escape. Officer Seawell, who fainted from loss 
of blood, was attended by the police surgeon. The 
wound was pronounced dangerous, but not necessarily 
fatal. The most singular part of the affair is, that the 
girl, a beautiful blonde is said, forcibly to have been 
abducted by two well dressed men who happened to 
pass the saloon when the shooting .took place. The 
police are hard at work, -and farther details are awaited, 
at headquarters.” 

“By the great Horn Spoon, Professor, we shall he 
overcome by interviewers,” shouted Peter in great alarm. 
“What can we do?” 

“Do you suppose we were recognized?” I asked. 

“No, but Alnight inadvertently may have told the 
police that we were witnesses. He knows my address, 
for more than once he has sent me home in a cab Sun- 
day morning,” said Peter dolefully. 

At this moment the door bell rang and the doctor 
entered. His face bore so grave an expression that 
Peter and I anxiously waited for him to speak. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 35 

“The .patient has dislocated her ankle, which with 
some difficulty I have reduced. She is also laboring un- 
der great mental excitement. There is danger of 
fever — ” 

Again the bell rang! this time violently. 

“This noise,” continued the doctor, “must be stopped 
at once. If not I will not be responsible for the con- 
sequences.” 

Peter was already at the door. 

“Don’t open it,” said I, “until I have seen what is 
going on without.” Looking out I saw McElroy, the 
reporter, standing outside of the front gate, evidently 
endeavoring to converse with Hans, who stood inside 
facing the new comer. 


VI. 

Andrew McElroy is a person well known to all jour- 
nalists, public men, and politicians in the city. He 
goes everywhere, knows not only everybody, but every- 
thing which everybody does not want anybody to 
know. He has often been arraigned for criminal offens- 
es, but by good fortune or favor, has always escaped 
the meshes of the law. He seems to scent out instinct- 
ively the proximity of matter for a paragraph. Never 
attempt to evade or delude McElroy! Let there be a 
row in a Republican primary or a split in a Democratic 
caucus and you will find McElroy on hand. His mem- 


36 


THE OWLS' OF 


or y is something marvellous. He’ can talk 311 hour 
with you and a dozen others, and at its close write out 
verbatim what has been said. If required, he can also, 
without great compunction of conscience, furnish a gar- 
bled or fictitious version of the conversation. He is 
therefore a most useful attache to a political journal. 
Those who do not hate him for his merciless satire fear 
him because of his information. He is the custodian of 
both social and political secrets. He is adroit, reckless 
and withal a good natured fellow, who will not hurt 
unless provoked, and who was always true to his friends. 
Yes, there was McElroy’s florid face, and we could not 
escape ! 

“I am afraid Hans will let the cat out of the bag if 
McElroy understands German ,” said Peter. 

At this moment Ruth joined us and was introduced 
to me by her brother. Her face reminded me of Mu- 
rillo’s Madonna. Her dark hair was parted, and smooth- 
ly pressed over her forehead after the fashion of our 
honest mothers. She was plainly dressed in black, and 
her sole ornament was a rose. 

“Peter, will you answer the bell! Bridget does not 
seem to hear it! Lora is very ill — 

And the doctor entering, she continued : 

“Will you come again to-day, doctor?” 

“Yes, Miss Cricket, this afternoon-,” replied the doctor, 
then turning to me he continued: “By the way, Pro- 
fessor, Alnight tells me that Mr. Cricket and you wit- 
nessed the shooting of officer Seawell.” 

Ruth, who was about to retire, paused to listen. 
Peter gazed at his sister, hesitated a moment ami then 
replied. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


“Not exactly so; we heard the shot and rescued your 
patient/' 

“Quite romantic/’ remarked the doetof, who, having- 
resumed his hat and gloves, bade us good morning, and 
opened the door to depart. 


VII. 

“Ich weiss gar liichts davon! Ich verstehe kein Wort 
English! Sie sind ein Irlander nicht wahrP” 

“Blast your Dutch blarney! I might as well inter- 
view a green Patagonian. Be kind enough, Friend 
Sauer Kraut, to step aside and no longer obstruct the 
'way of the representative of the press!” 

Hans, bewildered and open mouthed, stared at the 
speaker, but did not move. 

“News-boy, pull that door bell again,” shouted Mc- 
' Elroy. Ah, now I have it! said McElroy, as he saw the 
door open, and the doctor appeared, followed to the 
threshold by Ruth and me. 

“Good morning, gentlemen! I am very sorry to dis- 
turb you so early this beautiful morning! but you know 
it is the early bird that catches the worm.” 

“Yes, I know, Mac.,” said Peter, “but it is also the 
early .worm which is caught by the bird, for last Sun- 
day morning some one stole from me ten dollars.” 

“Just so, Peter,” retorted McElroy, “and sooner or 
later the early bird is caught by the worm.” 


38 


THE OWLS OF 


“Do you mean the worm of the still, Mr. McElroy ?' 
asked the doctor as he passed the reporter. 

“Exactly so, sir,” and turning to Peter, McElroy said: 
“My dear Horn Spoon, I plead guilty to Dr. Heyward's 
soft impeachment, for I carry in my face the evidence 
of my matutinal potations, but nevertheless, I am an 
advocate of total abstinence from all sin. You may 
perhaps conjecture the object of my visit.” 

“To interview us, I suppose,” remarked Peter with 
some asperity. 

“Exactly so, my good Horn Spoon!” 

“Mr. McElroy, at the Always Open you may address 
me as familiarly as you please, but here in the presence 
of Professor Owler and my sister, I am Peter Cricket at 
your service.” 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cricket,” said McElroy, with 
a low how. 

“Moreover,” continued Peter earnestly, “there are 
certain reasons why my friend and I desire to avoid pub- 
licity in connection with the matter of the shooting of 
Officer Seawell, reported in the morning paper and 
which I suppose to be the subject of your investigation.” 

“But, Mr. Cricket,” said McElroy, with equal ear- 
nestness, “how can your friend, the Professor, and your- 
self avoid publicity. Johnson will be arrested and you 
will be summoned as witnesses. Moreover, permit me 
to suggest that you should embrace this opportunity to 
set yourselves right before the public.” 

“Mr. McElroy,” said I, “I have good reason to be- 
lieve that the report of the affair in question, published 
in this paper was written by you. You obtained our 
names, and Mr. Cricket’s address from Mr. Alnight, and 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 39 

I shall be surprised if he did not also inform you that 
my friend and myself were the rescuers, not the abduc- 
tors, of the unfortunate young woman/’ 

The undaunted reporter cooly replied: “I assure you 
upon my professional honor, Professor Owler,” and here 
the speaker placed his hand over his heart, “that I did 
not write the version of the affair you have read in the 
Times. Neither did Mr. Alnight give me any points in 
regard to the matter. Your version of the affair — ” 

“I have not given you my version,” said I. 

“Well,’-’ continued McElroy, again addressing Peter, 
“I have most of the particulars from a friend who was 
present when the shooting occurred, and naturally, 
but it seems wrongly, supposed that you and the learn- 
ed Professor would not refuse me such further informa- 
tion as will enable me to do justice to all concerned. I 
trust that the young lady is well — ” 

“She is not, sir,” said Peter, his eyes flashing with in- 
dignation, “she is very ill, and by the great Horn Spoon 
if you devil fish of the press don’t leave my door bell 
alone she will never be better.” 

McElroy ’s countenance did not change, hut Peter’s 
voice grew louder as he continued: 

“You talk, sir, about the young lady and a friend 
being present. Mr. McElroy, you know very well who 
she is, where she was, and in whose society, for you 
were there yourself. 

“There is no occasion for you to get up on your ear, 
Mr. Cricket. Since you saw me, I confess I was there. 
The exigencies of my calling require me to visit all 
places at all times.” 

“Well, Mr. McElroy, be good enough not to visit my 
place at any time,” said Peter. 


40 


THE OWLS OF 


“There is no mistaking your courteous invitation, be- 
loved Horn Spoon, an revoir , at the Always Open next 
Sunday morning,” sneered the baffled interviewer who. 
nodding to me, turned upon his heel and walked slowly 
down James street, followed by the newsboy. 

“We shall catch it to-night,” said Peter sadly, “at 
least a column in the News.” 

“Ah, never mind, my friend,” said I, “submit grace- 
fully to the inevitable. Any man who rises above the 
level of mediocrity must expect that his head will be 
made a target. You are now the champion • of a mag- 
dalen! You are a bachelor. This affair has all the ele- 
ments of a sensational article, and you ought not to 
blame McElrov for his persistence, but rather admire 
him for his enterprise.” 

“Well, I’ll be ” 

Peter was about to be profane, when,, seeing Ruth, 
who had been an interested and apprehensive listener to 
the interview, he checked himself in time. 

“ — come a deacon in Dr. Scavenger’s Temple before 
she shall be tormented by these d— etestable news- 
mongers. I’ll post Hans at the corner with a shot- 
gun.” 

“Do it, Peter,” said Ruth, laughing in spite of herself, 
“lie will make a splendid sentinel and Bridget may hold 
the cartridges/’ 

“Let Mac. live, Peter. He is not the worst man in 
town!” said I, joining in Ruth’s laughter. 

“Very well, Professor Owler,” said Peter seriously, 
“as much as you love birds, you would not condescend 
to stuff a crow if instead of digesting his carrion, it were 
his characteristic to spew it into the nests of other birds! 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


41 


But, sister, it is almost eight and I shall be late at the 
store. Please find out how Lora is.” 

Ruth entered the sick room, and soon rejoining us 
whispered to Peter: 

“Lora is asleep and so beautiful, poor child!” 

“If I. am wanted, telegraph,” said Peter, and with a 
good morning to us both, he took a passing car and was 
lost to our view. 

“Miss Cricket, I must thank you for your hospitality 
and bid you adieu.” 

“Professor Owler,” said she, while the tears shone in 
her eyes, “If you ever meet my brother at the Always 
Open, in a state of — (there the lady paused, and how 
sorry I was for her), — intoxication, will you care for 
him.” 

“In so doing, Miss Cricket, I shall do my duty as a 
. man and a Christian. If I can be of service to you and 
yours at any time, command me,” I replied. 

Ruth gave me her hand and a look of gratitude, and 
without further speecli I departed. 


VIII. 

It was a lovely Indian summer day, and I took the * 
nearest way to Prospect Park. The maples wore their 
autumnal hues. A doe startled by the sound of my 
footsteps on the gravel walk, gazed at me a moment, 
and then joined her companion at some distance within 


42 


THE OWLS OF 


the enclosure. A rabbit crossed my path and disap- 
peared in the shrubbery. A grey squirrel climbed to 
the first limb of an old chestnut, and watched my move- 
ments. I passed under the arched way, over the bridge, 
along the brook, ascended the steps, and reaching, the 
octagonal rustic arbor, that overlooks the glen, found a 
seat in one of its angles. Perceiving that I was alone, 
I drew forth and read 

Peter’s Story. 

T have neither parents, wife nor child. She who was 
my child and might have been my wife, is lost, — lost. 
Oh Lora, my child love, where art thou ? Could 1 but 
know thou wert dead, my heart were comforted. Better 
so than worse ! Be a man, Peter ! I have resolved to 
write it down. In recording my inmost thoughts I 
shall perhaps find relief. If anything befall me. this 
record may aid in the search, I entered the house so 
quietly a few moments ago, that Ruth did not hear me. 
Bruno, was however, wide awake, waiting for me. Faith- 
ful friend — now lie down — now another time, Bruno, 
I will write more of you. It is now four — good patient 
sister mine — never a harsh word —she knows me, and 
after all loves me ! 

I sometimes think that a sister’s love is next to a 
mother’s. 

My God ! Why did I write that word ? 

It is now five — I fear Alnight put too much tonic in 
the soda, but I will write. In fact I find that up to a 
certain point a little stimulus is beneficial. The diffi- 
culty is to find the point. Many times I have been on 
the point of seeing the point and have been disap- 
pointed. By the great Horn Spoon, see these puns, 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 43 

purely involuntary — well, let them stand, they seem to 
point a moral and adorn a tale, for when I become 
overcome with the fatigue of my search after the safety 
point, 1 am compelled to take a rest. It is, I suppose, a 
mere mathematical obstruction, or rather a mirage that 
retreats as I approach it. 

Oh, for an oasis in the Sahara of m}^ misery! But 
did not Byron use his spiritus juniper i. What if his 
verses “smell of gin,” they are nevertheless popular with 
temperate ladies. General Grant is reported once before 
a great victory to have drunk a glass of whiskey, and 
old Abe proposed to send a barrel of the same sort, to 
all his generals, to ensure the early suppression of the 
-rebellion. Did not * * * (Here the writing be- 

came illegible. ) B} t the great Horn Spoon, 1 must have 
slept! My father was a wealthy hardware merchant, 
and Ruth and I his only children. 

Having remained a bachelor till forty, he surprised 
his friends and acquaintances, by marrying Miss Louise 
Walden, the reigning Saratoga belle of the season of 
18-35. She was an heiress in her own right. The first 
years of my father’s wedded life, were a period of unal- 
loyed happiness. Ruth came first, and two years later,. 
I was placed in my delighted father’s arms. In face 
and form I am said to resemble my mother. What 
may be the secret of hereditary transmissions of quali- 
ties P Is it not worth the while to improve the . breed of 
men, as well as of horses? A sound mind in a sound 
body ought to be prayed for, wrote a Roman. Methinks 
we should labor for it also. How wretched the soul im- 
prisoned in a body infected by poison, and racked until 
pain. To such the happiness which is the reward of 


44 


THE OWLS OF 


physical merit is denied. Young men and maidens, con- 
sult your parents and yourselves, ere you transmit to 
innocent offspring, the torments of asthma, the remorse- 
less consumption, the horrible scrofula, or the no less 
horrible innate appetite for rum ! Pause, be careful and 
generous to those who shall bear your name. And old 
and young men, and women, good, bad and indifferent, 
let us pray for charity ! 

The miserable victim of inherited irresistable evil ten- 
dencies, is not so guilty as the priest, who passes by on 
the other side, or the praying deacon who turns up his 
nose in scorn at the sight of his wretched fellow man ! 
Ye sleek and pampered preachers, ye who in silks and 
broad cloth sit upon soft cushions and listen to their 
florid rhetoric supplied at ten thousand a year; ye public 
plunderers who drive your mistresses to Coney Island in 
costly turnouts, bought with the money of long suffer- 
ing tax-payers, and over rotten pavement provided at 
the expense of the public, scattering mud upon the poor 
pedestrian; ve well dressed and well-mated matrons, who 
turn your faces away from your sisters that have loved 
not wisely but too well; I beseech you all, to cease 
casting stones ! If ye do not, some of your murdered 
Stephens and Magdalens shall rise up in judgment 
against you. The laws which control the universe are 
never repealed, and never suspended. The sins of the 
fathers are visited upon the children to the third and 
fourth and the fifth generation. To-day we run riot — 
to-morrow we starve. The order of sequence is, first, 
ill-gotten wealth, second, revolution, third, despotism. 

I was the favorite child. All my wants were antici- 
pated and supplied, except the presence and personal 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


45 


care of my parents, which, most* of all. I needed. I was 
left in the society of paid nurses and tutors, who either 
ignored or excused my faults, and when my father en- 
quired after my welfare or progress in study, he was 
often deceived by mendacious representations. When 
I was eight years old. a terrible calamity befell our 
family. 

I had early manifested a decided love for music, and 
Signor Giovanni Presto was engaged as my teacher. He 
was very handsome and a wonderful musician. My 
mother was favorably impressedby his sweet tenor voice 
and courteous demeanor. 

In the course of a year Presto’s unexceptionable con- 
duct had won my parents’ confidence. He was treated 
wfith much consideration, and often invited to ride with 
us. One day in my father’s absence Signor Presto and 
my mother left the hout# together to ride through 
Prospect Park to Flatbush, and never returned! My 
father on being informed of the fact, said not a word, 
but retired to his library and locked the door. His li- 
brary was directly above my chamber, and all night I 
heard my poor father’s measured tread. Young as 1 
was, f partly comprehended the wrong which had been 
done, and the next morning I boldly declared to the 
dismayed servants that I would shoot Signor Presto 
when 1 became a man. A week passed away ere my 
father again appeared at the dinner table. T hardly 
knew him, for his hair had turned gray! 

“Papa, where is mamma?” I asked. 

“I do not know, my son. You need not ask. You 
will never see her again!” was the reply. 

And when I began to weep bitterly my father sent 
me away from the table. He directed everything to be 


46 


THE OWLS OF 


removed from the home “which could remind him of his' 
wife, and forbade her name to be spoken in his hearing. 
He made no effort to discover the whereabouts of the 
fugitives. He ascertained that his wife’s investments, 
had not not been disturbed, and that was all. Her for- 
tune was beyond his control, and his own was ample. 
My father with difficulty prepared me for college, to 
which I was admitted conditionally, but having taken 
a too prominent part in hazing Freshmen, I was expelled 
and returned home in disgrace. My father was deeply 
mortified, but, at my request, sent me abroad. Reach- 
ing Heidelberg, after six months application to the 
study of German. I was matriculated in the university 
without an examination. I now for the first time real- 
ized that in years and stature I was a man, but in 
learning a fool. I resolved upon a new departure, and 
began to study assiduously. had inherited from my 
mother a taste for music and a decided talent for its 
performance. I was a daily visitor at the Sehioss gar- 
den, where, with Goethe’s Faust in hand, I would listen 
to the charming music produced under the direction of 
Carl Friese, then a young musician of great promise. 
My chosen instrument was the violin, at once the most 
difficult to master, and the best in the hands of a mas- 
ter, and I sometimes have thought that it has saved me 
from utter ruin. I made Friese’s acquaintance and 
much to my delight he became my teacher. 

I contracted for him a warm friendship, which will 
continue so long as we both shall live, and, who knows, 
possibly longer! He has become famous, but, he has not 
forgotten how, the lessons done, he used to play for my 
edification for a gulden an hour! I shall not forget the 


47 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 

last lesson. It was a sunny clay in May. He had 
brought a solo .written by him, and dedicated to me, en- 
titled “Errinnerung an Heidelberg.” While he played I 
lay on the sofa, overpowered by emotion, and when he 
had done , we fell upon each other’s neck and said our 
farewells. 


The last strain ling'ring died away, 

The master’s task was done, 

A while we watched the Neckar’s spray 
Dance in the May day sun. 

A long embrace— methought a tear, 

Shone in his clear blue eye; 

My old cremona lying near, 

He raised it with a sigh, 

And drew therefrom in melody, 

So sweetly his farewell, 

That through the years across the sea, 

I fetl its magic spell. 

The bards may sing Arion’s art, 

And Ariel’s magic wand, 

But thine, dear Friese, won my heart, 

I leave it in thy hand. 

I returned home in 1860, to find my father ill in 
health and disheartened by the prospect of civil war. 
He had been educated a Friend, and in common with his 
religious brethren was at heart an abolitionist, not- 
withstanding the majority of his customers were South- 
erners. He had resolved to vote for Lincoln, regardless 
of personal interests. 

During my sojourn at Heidelberg I regularly read the 
New York Herald and often visited the family of the 
American consul, who was a strong sympathizer with 
the confederates. The result of which reading and asso- 
ciation was my conversion from the political faith of 
my fathers. 1 had become an ardent and pronounced 
secessionist. Hardly had my father expressed his de- 


48 


THE OWLS OF 


light at my safe return, and improved appearance, when 
a discussion of the impending crisis sprang up between 
us. He at first was surprised, then pained, and finally ' 
rendered indignant by my utterances. But he did not 
forget that I was his only son, and controlled his anger. 
My utter folly in thus antagonizing my father’s settled 
convictions. I too late, saw and shall ever deplore. 

Returning home late from the. opera one evening in 
December, 1860. I was astonished to find the house il- 
luminated and to hear my sister giving directions to the 
domestics. Fearing the worst, I entered by means of 
a latch key, and beheld my father. Ruth, and the ser- 
vants ‘grouped around the hall table. Ruth's face wore 
the expression of helpless perplexity. As my father dis- 
covered my presence, he exclaimed : 

“Here is a nice mess, Pete! whose is it?” 

“Whose is what?” I enquired. 

An infant’s feeble wail coming from a' basket on the 
the table, caused me at first to start back in surprise, 
and then to look at the foundling. 

“Not mine, father!” said I so gravely that he laughed 
in spite of his evident annoyance. 

“Well, some unnatural mother has selected us as the 
object of her charity. It is a hint for thee to marry, 
Peter, and provide for us a baby!” 

“What shall we do with it, Ruth ?” I asked. 

“Read that, Peter,” said she. handing me a half sheet 
of note paper, whereon was written in a woman’s 
delicate hand: 

“Dear sir, I have heard of your good deeds, I am no. longer able 
to keep my child. I entrust her to you. Her name is Lora, and 
her father is an honorable member of the Legislature. L. SF 

“What a shame.” said my father. 


THE AL WA YE OPEN. 


41 ) 


‘•Send for a policeman and have it taken away,” said 
one of the servants. 

“The writer is well educated,” I remarked. 

The child, aroused by the conversation, opened its eyes 
and smiled. 

“No, no, father, you will not send it away: see, it 
smiles, the innocent!” 

Father glanced at me. then at the basket, and finally 
at Ruth, to whom he replied: 

“Not; if } r ou will have it. my child.” and bidding us 
good night he retired to his room. 

Thus an angel alighted in our home, and became the 
darling of us all. The memorable election of 1860 had 
been held. My father's candidate was chosen President 
of the United States, but his business was ruined. One 
of his -clerks had denounced him as an abolitionist to his 
Southern correspondents, and his drafts upon them came 
back dishonored. His rebel customers declared that 
their money was needed to defend their homes and 
friends, and should not go into the pocket of an enemy. 
My father taking Ruth. Lora, her nurse, a young Ger- 
man woman who had answered our advertisement, and 
a single servant, secluded himself in this old homestead, 
while I. portending that I was going to enlist in the 
Union army, bade him farewell, made my way to Rich- 
mond and joined the famous Black Horse Cavalry. I was 
wounded in the battle of Bull Run and removed to the 
hospital at Richmond. And here I must record the 
most horrible experience of my life. On the cot next 
to mine lay a man in Federal uniform, about forty years 
of age. His hair was as black as a raven’s, and he was 
so pale and quiet that 1 supposed ho was dead. As I 


50 


THE OWLS OF 


watched him, and observed that he was a Lieutenant of 
Infantry, I saw that he breathed. At last he opened 
his eyes and began to pray. 

u Santissima Maria!” 

At this moment Surgeon Wilson approached: 

“Captain Cricket,” said he, “I have directed that you 
be removed to more comfortable quarters. What is the 
matter with this Yankee?” 

“He is an Italian, and I believe delirious,” said I. 

“Doctor,” said the Lieutenant in English, “If I die 
will you send this to John Cricket, at Brooklyn, New 
York?” 

The surgeon nodded, and I started up at the sound of 
my father’s name ! I saw the surgeon take from the 
dying Italian a gold locket. 

“Who speaks my father’s honored name?” I cried, 
and regardless of the wound in my breast I sprang to 
my feet and recognized Signor Giovanni Presto! Snatch- 
ing the locket from the surgeon’s hand I opened it — 
and behold — God help me, the face of my mother! 
With a yell I threw myself upon the wretch, seized 
him by the throat, and then — all became black. When 
I recovered consciousness I found myself lying in a 
comfortable bed in the best chamber of a private resi- 
dence in Vine street, Richmond, attended by Surgeon 
Wilson and sister Ruth. 

“Oh, Peter, do you know me at hist?” said she. throw- 
ing her arms around my neck. 

“Yes, Ruth.” 

“Be careful, Miss Cricket, he is very weak, and must 
not converse.” 

“Doctor,” I whispered. The doctor came nearer and 
bent his head to my face. “Doctor, where is he?” 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


51 


“Dead!” 

“Does she know who he was?” 

“No.” 

A few days after my recovery of consciousness the 
surgeon told me that having been raised from the body 
of the Italian, I was at once attacked by a raging fever, 
and that for twenty days my life hung upon a thread. 
A message had been sent to my father by a paroled 
prisoner, and Ruth, having obtained reluctant permis- 
sion from Secretary Stanton to pass the Union lines, 
had reached me in safety. She told me that father was 
very ill, and almost heartbroken at my conduct in join- 
ing the rebel army, and that Lora was growing more in- 
teresting day by day. I could not speak of the horrible 
discovery I had made. Could it be that our mother still 
lived? Ruth never alluded to her. She was older than 
I, and could not speak of it. But the vision of the 
woman who bore me — perhaps a pariah, still living in 
sin — perhaps dying of want — was ever before me — and 
greatly retarded my recovery. But ere I arose from my 
bed convalescent, I had firmly resolved to find her if 1 
could obtain my discharge from the confederate service. 
In September through the efforts of Surgeon Wilson, I 
was discharged and permitted to return home, having 
first given my promise not to enter the Union army. 
Father received us joyfully, and Little Lora, her first 
hesitation overcome, clasped her chubby arms around 
my neck and pursed her sweet lips for a kiss. ' 

With returning physical and mental vigor, came a 
more just appreciation of my proposed undertaking. I 
reflected that if my mother were still living and desired 
to communicate with us she could easily so have done. 


52 


THE 0 WLS OF 


She liad not so done, and therefore did not desire to be 
restored to us. Then, again, my father could not he ex- 
pected to receive and forgive her. Was she a fit com- 
panion for Ruth? On the other hand, was it not possi- 
ble that she had been forcibly abducted and was even 
then deprived of her liberty? The result of my cogita- 
tions was the confirmation of my resolution, and I be- 
gan the search. Calling at the bank where her bonds 
had been deposited at the time of her disappearance I 
learned that, soon afterward, they had been delivered to 
a Doctor Smith, upon her order, which was produced for 
my examination. The signature strongly resembled 
her autograph. I submitted the writing to an expert 
who declared it to be genuine and to have been written 
by a woman’s unsteady hand. I called upon every Doc- 
tor Smith in New York and Brooklyn in vain. I had 
never been informed as to the investment of my moth- 
er’s estate, and was unwilling to call my father’s atten- 
tion to the matter. The President of the bank could 
not inform me. but suggested that I call on Mr. Plead- 
well, the family lawyer. 1 found the latter in his private 
office and made known mv business. 

He was a shrewd old practitioner. Removing his 
spectacles and dismissing a clerk from the room, he de- 
manded why l sought the information. I answered that 
I desired to find my mother, if living, and if not, to es- 
tablish the fact of her death, in order to secure for Ruth 
and myself her estate if any portion thereof should be 
discovered. Whereupon Mr. Plead well referred to his 
register and gave me a list of the investments, all in good 
order, dividend paying stocks. He also informed me 
that the dividends had been regularly paid on my moth- 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


er’s written order. Therfeore she must be living and her 
signature forged or compelled by force. Mr. Pleadwell 
also stated that the dividend checks had never been sent 
by mail, but had been delivered to a messenger. I now 
decided to call to my aid a detective. My way was now 
plain, — to ascertain when the messenger would call at 
the Universal Insurance Company for the dividend 
checks and follow him! On stating my case to the 
Police Superintendent I was referred to Sergeant Sharp, 
in command of the detective squad. He was the last 
man one would take for a detective. His face habitual- 
ly wore a frank, open -expression, utterly inconsistent 
with my conception of a human hunting dog scenting 
his quarry. Had I not known him, I had mistaken him 
for a parson. Mr. Sharp’s reputation for skill in his 
profession had been made twenty years before. Though 
his face and form were well known to the criminal class 
he could so disguise himself that his wife could not re- 
cognize him. He he had amassed considerable property 
but had never been accused of a breach of trust. 

“Peter in search of his mother/ 1 said he with a grim 
smile, after having patiently heard all I had to tell him. 
“Decidedly like Captain Marryat’s Japhet. X wish 
you better success however, Mr. Cricket! Were Presto’s 
effects examined?” 

“No sir,” I replied, astounded at my not having 
thought of so obvious a preliminary step. 

“Then write at once to the superintendent of the hos- 
pital and inform me of the result. I will take care that 
the messenger shall be followed/’ 

I did as advised, and having secured the good offices 
of a confederate friend who had resolved, if possible, to 


54 


THE 0 IV LS OF 


make his way to the rebel capital, in due time I received 
the following reply: 

Richmond, October 1, 1861. 

Dear Sir: — In reply to your favor of the 16th ulti- 
mo, I beg leave to state that among the effects of Lieu- 
tenant Presto was found the enclosed letter. Roping it 
may be of service, and requesting you to deliver it to 
Presto’s personal representative, 

I remain, yours truly, 

Charles Wilson, 

Major and Med. Sup’t. 

To * C. S. A. 

Captain Peter Cricket, 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 

The enclosed letter was not dated, but ran as follows: 

“Dear Giovanni. 

You promised to write me as soon as your regiment 
reached Annapolis. The arrival of Col. Tinelli’s regi- 
ment was noticed in the Times more than twenty days 
ago. As I have not heard one word from you, I send 
herewith an order for you to collect my dividend due 
from the Universal Life. Be careful lest Mr. C. should 
discover my retreat. Do not send the order by mail, 
but let some trusty friend present it in person. Be a 
good boy and a brave soldier, and don’t forget that when 
you return in triumph you will be welcomed b} T your 
own Louise.” 

I arose from the perusal of this letter, oppressed by a 
feeling I cannot describe. In vain 1 reasoned that my 
mother’s sin was not mine— that ! was not disgraced — 
that one is injured by his own acts, not by another’s— 
I reflected that the villian was dead - 1 regretted that he 
had not had a thousand lives to be taken ! I arose 
reckless and despairing. While in Heidelberg I had 
learned to love the wines of the Rhine and Moselle, 
which I had hitherto drunk in moderation. But now I 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


walked deliberately to the Always Open and drank six 
glasses of brandy and soda ere I returned home. Abel 
Alnight saw me for the first time, warned me 
against drinking to excess, and refused the seventh glass. 
How I reached home I do not now recollect. My head 
was on fire. I remember that I wrote a personal for 
the Herald, aroused Hans and ordered him to drop it in 
the postbox. This done I fell upon my bed and became 
unconscious. The personal appeared the next morning 
and ran thus: 

“L. W. C. — Giovanni is no more. Send your address to 
P. 0. box 4001.” 

On the third day I received the following note posted 
at Flatbush and addressed as requested: 

“Dear Sir: If you are Peter, meet your mother at 
the fountain, city hall square, to-morrow morning at 
four. L. W. C.” 

My worst enemy would have pitied me had he wit- 
nessed my emotion at the prospect of again meeting the 
woman who had borne me under her heart. I now be- 
gan to recoil from the undertaking in which I was en- 
gaged. Was I not assured that she was alive and guil- 
ty? Although she had neglected me, I knew she had 
passionately loved me, and therefore I could not under- 
stand how she could have deserted me. “Perhaps she 
loves me still,” I said to myself. Possibly during the 
years which have elapsed since her elopement she may 
have seen me and been informed of my movements. 
Suppose I meet her as I now must, what shall, what 
can I do for her? At least I can relieve her physical 
wants. But what can I say to father and to Ruth! 
To our servant, Bridget, alone I had spoken con- 
cerning the absent one. I wrongly suspected that the 


56 


THE OWLS OF 


shrewd Irishwoman was informed respecting the fate of 
her former mistress, for she had more than once declar- 
ed to me that my mother was good and would one day 
be restored to us. I resolved to keep the appointment 
of my unknown correspondent and await developments. 
In this resolution I was confirmed by the approval of 
Mr. Sharp. Excited by the approaching denouement I 
felt the craving for stimulant, and visited the Always 
Open on the appointed night at ten o’clock. Would 
that some kind hand had stayed mine ere it raised the 
intoxicating cup. At this crisis of my life when most 
[ required the full possession of all my powers “I put an 
enemy into my mouth to steal away my brains. 1 * But 
my courage rose, that counterfeit courage which is the 
offspring of alcohol. I would rescue my poor mother 
and restore her to her husband and children. Could so 
noble a resolve be the child of rum! Slowly the mo- 
ments passed away. Having for the fifth time patro- 
nized the fountain of youth, to Alnight’s evident appre- 
hension, at five minutes before four I stood on the 
threshold of the Always Open, with my e}'es fixed on 
the minute hand of the hall clock. The moon was not 
visible, but the stars, like gems bestudded the blue dome 
of heaven and brightly shone through the clear atmos- 
phere. It seemed as if the minute hand did not move. 
Alnight good naturedly enquired if I was studying as- 
tronomy, but I did not reply. The suspense became 
intolerable, and with unsteady steps I started towards 
the fountain. 

At that instant a muffled figure stepped forth from 
behind one of the pillars of the hall, slowly descended 
the steps and moved to meet me. Placing my right 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


hand over my revolver 1 advanced boldly. The person 
who approached wore a black cloak and a mask. 

“Halt,” I commanded, when the figure had reached a 
point distant from me about thirty yards. 

“Are you Peter Cricket?” asked the stranger in a deep 
base voice, and halted. 

“I am,” I answered, grasping the handle of my pistol. 

“If you would see your mother, throw up your hands, 
consent to be blindfolded, and follow me!” 

I hesitated to obey, and yet what possible object could 
the mask have in harming me, methought.” 

“What do you say, si£? There is no time to lose!” 

“I’ll do it,” said I, and threw up my hands. The 
mask approached, produced a silk handkerchief, tied it 
over my eyes, and grasping my left hand led me for- 
ward in the direction of the court house. I was con- 
scious of turning several corners but unable to see. At 
the end of a few moments I enquired of my conductor 
in a tone which must have betrayed anxiety, if he pro- 
posed to rob me. 

“Not at all, my boy. 1 am going to introduce you to 
the old lady. Be a good boy, Peter, and all will be 
well !” 

At last we paused, and turning to the right I heard 
my guide knock four times, a door opens, and the step 
of a third person on its threshold. In an instant I 
was pushed into what I supposed to be a hall, my right 
hand was seized and my pistol taken from me. 

“To prevent accidents, Mr. Cricket,” said the new 
comer. 

“Two flights only, Peter,” said my captor. Arriving 
at the landing of the second floor, we suddenly paused. 


THE OWLS OF 


58 

and my bandage was removed. The hall in which we 
stood was dimly lighted by a single gas jet. My captor 
removed his mask and disclosed the face of Hawk John- 
son! For a full minute we gazed at each other in si- 
lence. . So great was my astonishment that 1 did not 
observe that Johnson's confederate stood behind me. 
I had known Hawk from boyhood. Finally he broke 
the silence. 

“Pete, old boy, 1 am glad to see you. Have rather lost 
sight of you since you went to study the Dutch. Let 
me introduce you to my pal Dr. Smith ! Doctor. Peter 
Cricket, Esq.*’ • 

The doctor moved to Johnson’s side and remarked 
with a grin of satisfaction : 

“I am delighted to make Mr. Cricket’s acquaintance, 
1 trust, it will be both pleasant and profitable.” 

He was to me a perfect stranger. 

“Bob,” said 1 to Johnson (for Hawk was his nick- 
name) “1 am in your power. Do what you propose to 
do at once.” 

Hawk and Smith conferred in a whisper, when the 
latter producing a key, opened the door of a room on our 
left, which hitheto 1 had not observed. Having stepped 
aside to permit Hawk and myself to enter, the doctor 
followed, locked the door, turned on the gas, and invited 
us to be seated. The room was furnished with a sofa, 
a round table, four chairs, and a buffet containing de- 
canters filled with liquor, cigars and glasses. An ad- 
mirable copy of Bougereau’s Pan and the Nymphs hung 
on the wall in front of me. The sole window Avas clos- 
ed by iron blinds. 

“Mr. Cricket,” said Doctor Smith, who had taken a 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 59 

chair opposite me, leaned his elbow on the round table 
and rested his chin upon his open right hand, “We 
meet for the first time, and since Mr. Johnson and you 
are old friends, (here he grinned again), I have request- 
ed him to make a few preliminary remarks, for your ed- 
ification and possible benefit.” 

“Where am I, Johnson,” said I, turning toward the 
latter, who sat on my right. 

“You are in an insane asylum!” 

“Bob, don’t deceive me.” 

“You bet; don’t this room look like a consulting office? 
Well, to business, my covey. You happen to be the son 
of your mamma — and I have the happiness to inform 
you that she is here!” 

“Where?” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet. “Take 
me to her.” 

“Not so fast, Peter,” said Johnson, pulling me down 
into my chair; “first business, then pleasure.” 

“Mr. Cricket,” resumed the doctor, “your unhappy 
mother has long been an inmate of this retreat and un- 
der my professional care. Whether you see her depends 
wholly upon yourself!” 

So saying the doctor cooly took from his coat pocket 
a cigar case and offered it to me, but I refused. John- 
>on took a cigar as did the doctor, lighted it by the gas 
| jet, and began to smoke. 

“x^s soon as you shall have signed this little docu- 
ment, Mr. Cricket, your filial desire shall be gratified:” 

Nov. 5th, 1861. 

James Lockwood, Esq., 

President of the 7tli National Bank, 

of Brooklyn. 

Please deliver to the bearer, Henry Smith, M. D., my 


60 


THE OWLS OF 


5-20 and 10-40 U. S. bonds, of t he par value of $50,000, in 
your hands for safe keeping. My son, Peter, has been 
reconciled to me. and in my present precarious state of 
health. I must place my business in his charge. 

Yours Respectfully, 

Louise AY. Cricket. 

Dear Sir : My mother for many years has been con- 
fined to her bed, and under the charge of Dr. Smith, in 
a private asylum. 

The doctor, as you know, has regularly collected the 
coupons of her bonds. You are, of course, aware of the 
unhappy manner of my parents’ separation. Finding I 
desired to see her, my poor mother disclosed to me her 
address, and now proposes to accompany me to Italy, 
there to pass the remainder of her days. My father still 
refuses to see her. I take this opportunity of thanking 
you for your fidelity to your trust, and to say that you 
may safely deliver the bonds on the doctor’s receipt, in- 
dorsed in the foregoing order. 

A^ery Respectfully, 

“Never, you villains !” I shouted again, 'leaping to my 
feet. “Let me out !” 

Instantly the doctor placed a revolver at my head, 
saying : 

“Sign, or take this dose !” 

I hesitated— It was undoubtedly a genuine signature. 
She was in the house — They could not obtain the bonds 
before banking hours, it was now perhaps five o’clock 
— What might happen in four hours ! 

“Hand me that pen,” said I. 

Johnson handed me a pen, and Smith pushed an ink 
stand nearer to me. I signed my name to the note, and 
my captors smiled triumphantly. 

“This is rather rough, Peter,” said Hawk, “but if 
Doc and I can bag this swag, we will retire from busi- 
nesss and reform, you know !” 


THE AL WA YE OPEN. 


a\ 

The doctor carefully placed the paper in his pocket 
book, unlocked and opened a door opposite that through 
which we entered, leading into an ante room, and 
pointing to a knob, said : 

“Mr. Cricket, ring that bell and you will find the old 
lady as well as can be expected. We will await your 
pleasure for a half hour.' not longer. Don’t you forget, 
now." I rang the bell with a trembling hand. A ne- 
gress appeared on the threshold of the half opened door. 
Seeing my strange face, she was about to retire when 
the doctor said : 

“All right,” and the woman stepping aside, permitted 
me to pass, and my mother and I stood face to face ! 

“Have you come to murder me, sir ?” she asked. “I 
have nothing to be taken but my life f* 

She was plainly dressed in black : her face was very 
pale, with that sickly hue which is the result of long 
deprivation of sunlight. Her luxuriant hair fell in 
white ringlets over her shoulders. \ knew she was 
forty-two. I had anticipated seeing a great change in 
her personal appearance, but nevertheless I was stupefied 
by the reality. Forgetting all my shame and indigna- 
tion for the wrong she had done my father, I clasped 
her in my arms, exclaiming : 

“Mother, mother, don’t you know me? It’s Peter, your 
boy! Oh. my poor mother!” 

“Hod be praised,” she exclaimed and swooned. 

1 placed her unconscious form upon a bed, and turn- 
ing saw the servant standing near me. 

“Here, woman, quick— take this— get water — harts- 
horn or something,” said I. 

“Yes sail, mist ah/ 


02 


THE OWLS OF 


She disappeared and quickly returned with a bottle 
and said: 

“The doctor says give her dis. If you want me again 
I’ll be in the ante-room.” 

I waited long and anxiously for the return of my 
mother to consciousness. At last she opened her eyes, 
and drawing me to her bosom whispered: 

u My son — how did you find me! Yes it is my darling 
boy — but you are a man — and Ruth — your father — 
where are they — oh God, how could he have left me here” 
and kissing me passionately she began to weep. 

“Don’t mother, we are in danger; compose yourself 
if you can,” I whispered. 

Thus entreated and warned, she controlled her emo- 
tion and waited for me to speak. 

“Are you here voluntarily?” She looked at me in 
horror! 

“My son, are you mad? I have been imprisoned in 
this room twelve years!” was the terrible response. 

“Thank God!” I exclaimed and again embraced h«r. 

“Yes, my son, that monster, Presto — ” 

“He is dead,” I interrupted; her face indicated a sense 
of relief, nothing more. 

“He died at Richmond of a wound he received in 
battle.” 

“It is a more honorable death than he deserved, but 
how are we to escape? I have in vain endeavored to 
bribe the servants. Had I been immured in a wilder- 
ness I could not have been more effectually imprison^ 
than in this great city.” 

“What motive?” I asked. 

“Money! They have robbed me of all I had to give 
you!” 


THE AL WA r$ OP EX. 


Suddenly we heard a loud knocking at the .street 
door, followed by the sound of angry voices. I rushed 
to a window' and vainly endeavored to raise it. Strong 
iron blinds barred my way. At this instant footsteps 
were heard coming up the stairs. A pistol shot rang 
through the hall. Some one shouted, “Don't shoot 
again!” The door of the doctor’s* office was burst 
open. The negress rushed into the room where my 
mother and l stood, shrieking “Police! Police. 1 ” follow- 
ed by Sergeant Sharp and several officershaving in cus- 
tody Fergus MeFingal, Hawk Johnson and his medical 
pal, securely handcuffed. 

Mr. Sharp being on the watch had witnessed the 
meeting of Johnson and myself. Having followed and 
seen us enter McFingal’s gambling house, he reported 
the fact at headquarters. A long contemplated descent 
upon the place was at once ordered. The gamblers, a> 
well as Johnson and Smith, w r ere taken by surprise. Th^ 
Sergeant satisfied with the capture of the trio, permitted 
their visitors, some of them respectable business men, 
to retire in shame to their homes. Mr. Sharp had ex- 
torted from the proprietor. MeFingal, the place of my 
mother’s detention, notwithstanding Johnson threat- 
ened the gambler with violence if he “squealed’,” and 
ground his teeth with rage when the warning proved 
ineffectual. 

We thanked our rescuers, entered a cab which had 
l>een called, and were rapidly driven home. My poor 
mother, overpowered by excitement and the prospect of 
meeting again her husband and daughter, began to sob 
hysterically. The day was dawning ;ts our cab stopped. 

I reminded my mother of the injurious effect her un- 


THE OWLS OF 


b‘4 

expected arrival might have upon my invalid father, and 
begged her to restrain her emotion if possible. I entered 
the house quietly, led my mother into the "library and 
placed her in the old arm chair. I was about to call 
my sister, when for the first time the full import of the 
situation flashed upon me. What if Ruth should refuse 
to see her mother! 

Then came the old conviction —she is truthful, -she 
must be good, and 1 no longer hesitated. 

Ruth, at the sound of my voice, arose hastily, dressed, 
opened her door, and saw my Hushed face and ill- 
concealed agitation. 

“Oh Peter,'* she cried, "you have been drinking again! 
How you do look !' 

“Ruth, mother is here f ' Her -.face grew pale as 
death —she trembled violently, and would have fallen 
had I not caught her. 

“Ruth, be strong now for the sake of your parents f ' 
She said not a word as I supported her to the door of 
the library, when our mother, unable to rise, exclaimed : 

“Ruth, my child!*" 

Ruth paused a moment, gazed at the pale, emaciated 
face and open arms, and then without a word, embraced 
our mother and kissed her. 

[ left them unobserved, and went to break the news 
to my father as best I could. He had been aroused by 
the sound of our carriage wheels, and I found him 
dressed, and evidently prepared to hear something un- 
usual, but no sooner had I pronounced the word 
‘"mother,” than he sprang to his feet and commanded 
me to be silent. 

“I trill speak, father she is innocent and l know it f 1 


THE ALWAYS OPEN 


65 


He stared at me like a madman. “She lias been 
twelve years a prisoner in McFingal’s gambling den. 
She has been robbed of all her fortune.” Here father 
walked slowly by me, and. with bated breath, said: 

“Where is she, Peter ?” 

At this moment Ruth entered, leading our mother. 

“John !” 

“Louise f’ 

This was all they said, and Ruth and I, seeing our 
long lost mother safe in her husband’s arms, cpiietly 
retired. On the morrow Ruth brought Lora to mother, 
and told the story of the little waif. But my narrative 
draws to its close. Neither of my parents long survived 
their reunion. Father first went, calm as a babe, to 
his final rest, having given us his blessing, and com- 
mending to our filial care his long suffering wife. The 
latter a few days after father’s death, detailed to Ruth 
and me, the manner of her abduction. Wishing to visit 
a friend who resided in Flatbush, she accepted Signor 
Presto’s offer to drive her carriage. On reaching Battle 
Pass, the Italian checked the horses, and a man who 
had been concealed in the wood suddenly emerged, 
leaped into the carriage and tied a handkerchief over 
her mouth. In less than an hour they had deposited 
her in the room where I found her. Presto's confeder- 
ate was Doctor Smith, who had been apprised by 
Presto of the intended drive. The letter found among 
Presto’s effects was a clever forgery which he had sent by 
a messenger to father, to confirm the latter’s resolution 
not to pursue his wife. Father had read it and made 
but one remark: “Take it back instantly.” It was re- 
turned to Presto who omitted to destroy it. My moth- 


66 


THE OWLS OF 


er’s abductors by threats and force compelled her to sign 
orders for the collection of the income of her estate, and 
finally for the delivery of the principal. The bonds had 
been placed in the custody of President Lockwood, with 
instructions to deliver them only upon the written or- 
der of the owner, or her personal representative in case 
of her decease. Upon my return from Europe, Johnson 
conceived the plan of abducting me also, and compelling 
me to sign the necessary papers. My advertisement af- 
forded him and his confederate an* opportunity to exe- 
cute the scheme, with the results I have hastily detailed. 

Our mother, finding her end drawing near, on the 
first day of the new year, divided between Ruth and me 
her fortune, committed her soul to God, and entered upon 
her new life. We buried her in Greenwood by her hus- 
band’s side, and on their monument we caused to be in- 
scribed, “Reunited.'* I became Lora’s teacher and guar- 
dian. For fourteen years nothing occurred to disturb 
the even tenor of our lives, save my periodical lapses 
which I vainly strove to overcome. Lora was sixteen, 
and marvelously beautiful. Ere I knew it, my fatherly 
regard for her became a passionate and absorbing love. 
She always called me “Papa,” and . in the morning never 
failed to greet ms with a kiss. One Sabbath evening in 
May, 1876, as she was about leaving home to call upon a 
schoolmate, I returned her filial kiss so passionately that 
she blushed and started back in surprise. I can write 
but one more sentence, and then I must take a walk in 
the^open air to the Always Open ! I have not since seen 
or heard from Lora !’ 


THE AIWA YS OPEN. 


Cu 


IX. 

Peter’s narrative had impressed me so deeply that for 
a long time after its perusal, I sat lost in thought, and 
unobservant of the scene around me. Was it possible 
that a citizen had been abducted in broad daylight and 
securely incarcerated in this city, within a short distance 
from the court house, twelve long years ! But what 
motive had Peter for deceiving me? He is indeed a most 
singular combination. He possesses rare literary acqui- 
sitions, but cannot use them — has studied specialties 
and yet has no profession — is almost a virtuoso of the 
violin and yet will not play for any one except his sister 
and himself — is a warm admirer of the fair sex and yet 
has never married. And then his ward, Lora, found at 
last ! But in what condition and under what circum- 
stances ! Here is another mystery-— who were her 
parents? are they or either of them living ? How could 
she associate with Hawk Johnson? What means had 
Peter taken to find her ? Then again, what will Miss 
Ruth do ? Will she send her away to rejoin her old 
companion? What will Peter do ? What would you do, 
Richard Owler, with a specimen like that — the fair and 
fallen Lora, if you were forty and in the place of Peter 
Cricket? These and many other questions I revolved in 
my mind and vainly endeavored to answer them to my 
satisfaction. I was aroused from my contemplation by 
the familiar voice of my negro servant. 


68 


THE OWE S' OF 


“Ok, Boss! Here you are, after all. (josh hint I glad! 

I though some night owl had broken your pocket book 
and stole your neck!” 

Looking up I beheld Charles descending the stone 
steps which lead to the dairy. 

“What is the matter, Charley; where is your clean 
collar? Never come to the parkin soiled clothes! Clean- 
liness is next to godliness you know!” 

“Jes so, Boss, but I never got so far as godliness yet. 
You see I’m only one week on reprobation!” 

“Nonsense, what do you mean?” I demanded. 

“Why don’t you see, Professor, (he called me Profes- 
sor when much in earnest). I’m gwine to jine brudder 
Samson’s church, and lie’s got me on reprobation al- 
ready, and if I don’t slide off (you know how it is your- 
self, Boss,) and go to meetin’ reglar, box the greenbacks 
pretty lib’ral, I'll be bimeby took into the full feller’s 
ship,” explained Charles, showing his ivories. 

“What in the world is all that,” asked I, rising to go. . 

4 Til be blamed if I know myself, Boss. I sometimes 
spec dat church of brudder Samson am a bethel. Den 
when 1 recomember de style and de number of de drinks 
what am most ordered by brudder Samson at Coney 
Island on de hot summer day, I sez to myself: He neb- 
ber go to lieben by water! No, he take de Lightning! 
Transit Express wid all de necessair oh dis life. Reber- 
end brudder Samson specs me, Boss!” 

“Suspects you of what?” I asked. 

Charles paused. His face wore a triumphant expres- 
sion, which might be more simply described as a broad 
grin. 

“Oh you see, Boss, being young and tolable hand- 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. <59 

some, I might now and den have turned de sow’ wes’ 
corner ob my left eye in de d'rection ob sister Samson. 
He’s gelus. Dat’s what’s de matter! Don’t laugh Pro- 
fessor, unless it pains you to stop, for de bizness is serus, 
very serus, sir!” 

Here I became interested and resumed my seat. 

“Now, Charles,” said I, assuming a grave demeanor, 
“You ought not to look upon another man’s wife. Let 
me hear all about it. Has Mrs. Samson given you any 
encouragement?” , 

“I don’t know whether it was courage she meant. 
She h’aint said so in jest dose words!” said Charles with 
a puzzled look. “Why only dis mornin,” he continued, 
“as I passed beneath her window, hoping to catch a 
glance at her lubly face, she came very unrespectedly, 
and not seeing me, poured some water on my head and 
den pologized, so sweetly, and said: Pray sense me, Mist- 
ier Saint John!” 

“What reply did you make?” 

“Oh I said, all right, sept wats left, sister Samson. 
Radder wet for a dew, and not enuff for a wash ! But I 
spose ’tis all a part of my reprobation. When I’m safe 
aboard your full feller’s ship I will ’ciprocate in full. 
Dat’s what I said Boss. Yes he’s gelus, and he’ll be 
worse and worser. Won’t you see if dis be all right?” 

So saying Charles took from his vest pocket a half 
sheet of note paper on which was scrawled in hardly 
legible characters: 

“Missus sister reberend Samson. I’m sittin’ 011 de 
stile mari, like de raged ege of de spare, and de tru in- 
wardness ob de — confounded — you no how ’tis your- 
self. Yours in reprohashun, soon to be your brudder in 
de full feller's ship. Charles Saint John, 


TO 


THE OWLS OF 


Valet de Chamber, de R. Owler, Esq., Prof, de hom- 
ology. 

Pea Ess, — Will be out to-morrow at 4. C. St. J. 

“Very well done," said I, hardly maintaining my 
gravity, “but what made you do so foolish a thing as to 
write to another man’s wife?” 

“Gosh Professor, ain’t she almost my sister!” exclaimed 
Charles earnestly. “I guess you h’ant heard ob de reb- 
erend Antony Lovewell’s letters. In de fust place de 
sittin’ on de stile mari, I found in a hymn book — and de 
edge ofde spare I spose has reference to de play of de 
billiards.” 

1 broke into a fit of laughter which was aggravated 
by Charles’ gravity. Several visitors being attracted by 
the sound, gathered near the arbor, and not desiring an 
audience I beckoned to Charles and ascended the hill 
toward home. Our way led us past the bust of Payne, 
and Charles paused to read the inscription. 

“Boss, what is de name ob dis idol?” 

“That is the bust of John Howard Payne, the author 
of "Home Sweet Home’.” 

"‘Well, I am alius gettin’ 'ceived. I thought that 
man was an idol ’rected by a lot of heathen who don't 
believe in God. I asked brudder Samson one day when 
I called upon him about de reprobation, what dis idol 
was, and he said it was an immoral souven-ear of Davis’ 
Pain Killer, and den de bald headed old hypocrite 
squinted at sister Mary, as much as to say: See dat 
fool of a niggali. But I spected he lied, and I met Gabe 
Goodson one day. You know him, Boss? He was a 
Fauster and is the writer of a scarlet letter, and he 
said it was de image of the fust man who had a home 


THE AL WA YS OPEN . 


71 


Vectecl by de Faust club, (you know I was ’sistant 
steward) cause de Fausters never staved at dere sweet 
homes demselves, and he looked at me in a fierce way, 
and scared me almost to death, saying: ‘Have you seen 
my perversion of d® sea — e — a — *r- — ’ I thought he said 
scat, and I ran away as far as de corner — but seeing 
dat Goodson did not follow me, I went back and 
asked him if he ’sposed I was a cat! He said 4 No, I was 
going to ask you if you had seen my scarlet letter, if 
not I was going to give you a ticket/ No, said I, de let- 
ter I saw was of de white persuasion and half out of de 
hvelope. A newsboy had it. But what made dem idol- 
ators worship Tom Paine, Boss? 1 ’ 

“Not Tom, Charles, but John Howard, another man,” 
I explained. 

“Well, I know ’twas one ob de family. Well, dis Sec- 
tion must have cost a pile of money. Dats de reason 
why de Fausters busted I suppose. Some of em used to 
take punches enough to bust any club, and den dere 
was some powerful strong toe tee'tolers. Dese never 
could tread well wid de milk punchers. Were you at 
de Yates conception?” 

“No, I never attend receptions,” said I. 

“Well, you ’member Parson Lovewell he made a 
speech, and I saw dat he was much ’harassed and stop- 
ped to wait for de train ob ideas, and you know dat very 
nio-ht de true inwardness all fell out ob de wood wdiole !’ ’ 

“It is not surprising/’ I remarked, as we resumed our 
walk home, “That Mr. Lovewell was somewhat pre- 
occupied in contemplating the near approach of the 
storm, which was to test his power of resistance to the 
uttermost.” 


72 


THE OWLS OF 

“Well if clis niggah could write like Parson 
Lovewell — 

Delilah she would soon be mine, 

And Samson might go feed the swine. 

Don’t you see? Parson Scavenger was dere too. He 
stood alongside Parson Lovewell, and when de Fausters 
called him out he slowly opened his mouf so wide dat I 
almost saw de light shine fru de hinges in de hack ob 
his head so (and here Charles stopped and opened his 
enormous mouth so widely that he resembled a gaping 
hippopotamus) and said it was a proper thing to make a 
short ’dress and dat a hnerican was not in a moral con- 
dition without his ''dress.” 

“Normal condition, Charles,” I interrupted. 

“Yes, moral condition, and dat he had seen a ’count 
ob a party in a boat in a storm, and one said, ‘let us 
pray’ and he didn’t know how, and den one said ‘let us 
sing’ and he had no voice, and annuder said, if we can’t 
pray or sing, let us take up a collection,’ and how de 
Fausters did laugh, and Parson Lovewell he laughed a 
kind of a sickly smile, and do you know why dey laugh- 
ed, Boss?” 

“Yes,” said I. 

“Cause I had heard de same old joke off de stump 
ebery ’lection since I was a contraband, but I hardly 
knew de old feller when he first began to come from de 
gap!” 

“You must speak more respectfully of clergymen. 
Charles,” said I. 

Charles gazed at me enquiringly for a moment, and 
continued: 

“I didn’t mean to say dey warn’t ’spectable as oder 


73 


THE ALWAYS OPEN . 

folks! But dey gets more Youragement. Dere is Par- 
son Scavenger, he gets more dan thirty dollars a day to 
be ’spectable and show udder folks how to be so, and 
den he goes off to de Casino and oder disrespec- 
table places !' 1 

“What did you say?” I demanded. 

“True as de bible, sah. I heard a policeman say so in 
front ob our place dis mornin’. Yes, and he said de par- 
son war goin 1 to show it all to de young people ob de 
temple next Sunday. If I can stand it, I am going 
myself.” 

“What, to the Casino?” I asked. 

“No, Boss, de ’lustrations by Parson Scavenger. Dey 
say. dey will be as good as de ’riginal show.” 

“How so, Charles?” 

“Well, you see in de fust place, I never feel so much 
'fected by de spirit as when I take it in a horn! And 
how piously dat hair buckle do blow! Gosh, Gabriel 
will lose his situation when dat blower dies, and den 
you see dat wonderful old man who plays de big organ . 
Gosh, how he can play Martha’s heart bowed down wid 
weight of woe, and den de sight of dat tall curly headed 
deacon, wid de sweet smile ’luminatin' his lubbly face 
when he is jest a goin’ to pass de box for my retribution. 
Den you see, Professor, I can hear de parson’s ventures 
widout danger of backslidin’. Oh, de stuff dat do run 
out of dat mouf! de kind and de ’mount! and de up and 
down motion of de arms. ’Minds me of de windmill 
dat Don Quick sot which de Fausters used to speak of. I 
tell you what it is, Boss, brudder Lovewell can touch de 
tender hearts of de sisters till dere eyes flow over wid 
tears, but brudder Samson can move de dormant imag- 


74 THE OWLS OF 

illations of die bredren until de Casino flow over wid 

die lambs of de flock!” 

“But, Charles, you must not forget,” I remarked, 
"that before a doctor can prescribe for a disease he must 
make a diagnosis.” 

“Jest what I said to sister Samson de oder day,” said 
Charles. “Said she, hr udder Charley, you cannot ’ceive 
de power of my spiritual inclination in your direction. 
Said I, “when I’m fleeted into de full feller’s ship I’ll die 
or know, sis, and den down comes die water on my head 
as I said afore.” 

“What I mean is this,” I persisted. “The parson 
evidently thinks he must know all about the devil to 
fight him successfully/’ 

“Yes, Boss, but I’se of de ’pinion dat he might get all 
de information from his deacons widout runnin’ any 
resk hisself. He needn’t put his hand into de debel’s 
pocket to shew his people de counterfeit coin. He had 
better turn de criminal over to de police. You see de 
debil, he be mighty han’some and fine spoken, and de last 
time brudder Samson showed him up at de temple, 
some of de sisters fell in love wid him and said he had 
been awfully slandered!” 

“With whom?” I asked. 

“Wid de debil, of course,” continued Charles. “You 
see brudder Scavenger’s doctrine seems to be dat de 
pastor is a sewer frew which all de filth of society must 
run into de church, when de deacons serve as a deodor- 
izin’ dis insectant, and de people carry away de fragrant 
perfume and leave behind all de noxus pisens, but Tis 
awful hard on de sewer, Professor.” 

“Where did you learn those long words, Charles?” 
said I. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


75 


“Found ’em in de Alius Open, lyin' round,” answered 
Charles, with an open countenance which again display- 
his ivories. 

We had now reached my sanctum, where 1 found an 
invitation to attend a meeting of the Anti-Gin-Mill As- 
sociation, signed by Simon Smiley, President, and Cri- 
vert O’Toole, Secretary, and notifying me that the lat- 
ter gentleman would address the meeting upon the evils 
of intemperance. 


X. 

In the course of twenty years devoted to my favorite 
science, I have discovered that there are ten species of 
owls whose habitat is Long Island. The largest is the 
great grey owl, which prefers an orchard, a place near 
the abode of man — makes depredations upon weaker 
animals and feeds voraciously. But I never surprised 
this owl in the act of drinking even cider ! Phrenolo- 
gists find in lower animals the types of mankind. This 
man has the face of a lion, that of a lamb, one has the 
nose of an eagle, another of a sparrow, and there are 
few men or women who can disguise their real charac- 
ters from an intelligent observer. The habitual smiler 
is, however, one of the few. You will note that my 
specimen of the Great Grey wears an habitual smile. In 
this respect he is singular. But now as I again intro- 
duce him to your notice, you will look in vain for his 


THE OWLS OF 


76 

wonted facial expression. For the honorable Simon 
Smiley is not only mortified, but very angry. His dig- 
nity has been assailed by tipsy Peter Cricket, and what 
was worse, it was done in the presence of those who 
would not keep the matter a secret. 

Possibly it might reach the ears of the members of 
.the Anti-Gin Mill Association, and lessen his chances of 
obtaining the nomination for senator. “Well, it served 
me right,” said he to himself, as he walked slowly home- 
ward. “I had no business to be in that infernal Always 
Open. I hope the clerk will not expose me ! I must see 
him about it. But what in the world shall I say to 
Mrs. Smiley. And if it gets to the ears of V an Groot, — 
well, I’ll trust to the inspiration of the moment. I’ve 
got out of worse scrapes than this.” 

As Smiley ascended the brown stone steps of his 
palatial mansion on the corner of Spendwell Boulevard 
and Grand Place, the gas lamp in front of his door was 
extinguished. He turned and recognized the lamp 
lighter, who handed to Mr. Smiley a note, saying : 

“This is from Captain Dart !” 

“Schoenberg, if you ever turn off that lamp again be- 
fore daylight, I will have you discharged.” 

“But it is mein orders, Mr. Smiley.” 

“Your orders, bosh ; are you such an ass as not to 
know that your orders are not mine? Turn off the other 
lamps at four o’clock if you will, but don’t touch this till 
daylight. Now get on, if you don’t want to be dis- 
charged. 

“You have me discharged ? Do it if you dare !” said 
Schoenberg, shaking his fist at Smiley, who, having 
turned, was astounded to behold a young man vainly 


77 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 

endeavoring to open the door by a latch key. Simon 
bounded up the steps and caught the young man by the 
shoulder. 

“DonJ be too fresh, Pop, I’m a little set up and can’t 

lind that d d old key hole,” was Simon Smiley’s 

greeting by his son and heir Nicholas Van Sluys Smiley. 
Simon did not loosen his hold, but opening the door as- 
sisted Nicholas to enter. Two white figures appeared 
at the head of the stairs. 

“What, Jane, you up at this hour ?’■ inquired Simon. 

“Where is Nicholas, Mr. Smiley,” sobbed Mrs. Smiley. 

“Yes, where’s your son.” demanded Mrs. Van Groot, 
“has he not come home ?” 

“Here I am, right side up with care, granny !” 

The two figures rushed down to the hall and em- 
braced the hopeful young man, who was not at all 
pleased, and observed : 

‘•Can't a feller have a game?” and here he staggered 
and fell against his father. 

"Mr. Smiley,” said Mrs. Van Groot. “See what your 
neglect of your son has done.” 

Mrs. Smiley fell in a fit of hysterics, while Simon, 
leaving her in her mother’s care, escorted his son to bed, 
whereupon Mrs. Smiley suddenly recovered, and as- 
cended to her son’s room without aid. Having re- 
mained with Nicholas until he fell asleep, she rejoined 
her mother without speaking to her husband, who sat 
iii the library gazing at his blazing fire, lost in thought. 

"Well,” he said to himself, “It has come to this at 
| last. If the boy is ruined he may thank the women, 
not me. What a fool I was to be angry, because Jane 
resolved to bear no more children to inherit my peculiar- 


THE OWLS OF 


ities ! More of Van Groot’s work ! They will now in- 
sist that Nicholas must be sent away from temptation. 
Bah ! Let him meet and overcome it, as I have done ! 
A great deal of what is called virtue is but the absence 
either of inclination or temptation ! But here is the note 
from that drunken Dart. Mr. Smiley broke the en- 
velope and read: 

No. 00 Bleeker Terrace. 

Dear Sir: — I beg you not to press your new suit to 
eject us from these rooms! The last month’s rent was 
paid. I borrowed the ten dollars from Mr. Cricket to 
give you. I am out of work, sick in body and mind — 
and of those who were my friends when I was rich and 
honored — some are dead before me — and the rest do not 
now know me. We have but little to eat — must the 
wife and little ones of an old Union soldier be compelled 
to go to the poor house? I told Mr. Plead well that I 
should not appear in court again. I am at your mercy. 
If instead of driving us into the street you would be 
merciful, I might perhaps take courage and rise again. 

Patrick Dart. 

“I must employ another attorney! If Dart’s charity 
lawyer appears again I shall be non-suited. The Darts 
must go and the Schoenbergs too. What’s this,” 
muttered Mr. Smiley, as his eyes fell upon another 
note resting on the mantle piece. “What, no envelope!” 

Simok Smiley, Esq. 

Dear Sir: — When last I called upon you for payment 
for my cantata you refused on the ground that the Tem- 
ple people were not satisfied with my direction of the 
rehearsels. We have had three. You promised me 
two hundred dollars for my work. It has been submit- 
ted to the best musical critics, who pronounce it my 
best. Certainly the author of “Sweet Bye and Bye,” 
ought not to plead in vain for his dues. You threw the 
MSS. in my face. I had not a cent in my pocket. No 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


?l> 

home where I could rest. Had it not been for the kind- 
ness of a good Samaritan who found me on Fort Greene, 
and gave me food and shelter, \ should be now wander- 
ing in the streets or seeking temporary rest in the sa- 
loon of some charitable publican, who knew me in my 
better and happier days. When next you join in sing- 
ing my hymn, remember you owe me for the cantata. 

Ralph James. 

“Is there ever to be an end to these church annoy- 
ances? James must be satisfied in some way. I will 
give him fifty dollars and let him keep his work. This 
comes of turning the temple into a music hall. Well, 
we could not have him around! He was seen with that 
Horn Spoon. If a man is a genius in art, and a fool in 
business, he thinks himself a martyr if he cannot obtain 
his own price for his wares!' 1 

Simon Smiley's reputation was very good. He was a 
law abiding citizen. Those who knew him most inti- 
mately were restrained from exposing him by pride, 
fear or self interest. He was senior deacon of Mr. 
Scavenger’s church, and the confidential adviser of his 
pastor, who was by no means ignorant of his antece- 
dents. But Mr. Scavenger was as politic as the deacon, 
whose contribution for the discharge of the temple 
debt was large, and was duly noticed not only by the 
pastor in the presence of the vast congregation, but in 
the local press. His public prayers were fervent and 
elaborate. His voice was loudly raised against the use 
of the church edifice for fairs, concerts and dramatic 
performances. Being a prominent temperance advo- 
cate, he deprecated the use of wine at communion, and 
the pastor’s expressed intention to detail what he had 
witnessed in the haunts of vice shocked Deacon Smiley 


THE OWLS OF 


m 

inexpressibly. At a meeting of the board of deacons lie 
proposed a committee to dissuade the pastor from his 
purpose. But before making the proposition he had 
ascertained that it would be voted down. Thus the 
deacon maintained his reputation without effectually 
antagonizing the pastor. Between pastor and deacon 
there was a perfect understanding. They had' laughed 
heartily at the admirable opportunity which the action 
of the board of deacons afforded the pastor for a public 
justification of his sensational discourses, while the dea- 
con reflected that if scandal should result he would not 
be held responsible. Where Deacon Smiley was born 
was not generally known. He appeared in Albany as a 
legislator many years ago, and soon after introduced a 
little bill containing a job. So familiar did he become 
during the session of the legislature with the ways and 
means of promoting or defending bills, that the follow- 
ing winter saw him in Albany an active member of the 
Third House. His success as a lobbyist was remarkable. 
By means of correspondents in every district of the 
state, he became thoroughly informed respecting the 
private character of every newly elected legislator. At 
the proper time, Mr. Smiley made his personal acquain- 
tance, and generally succeeded in controlling him. It is 
not strange that Smiley became rich and powerful, and 
that when he elected Brooklyn for his new field of oper- 
ations, and the temple for his church, his influence 
soon began to be felt. But Simon was not a happy 
man. He bore beneath his smiling face a heavy heart, 
and now while he slept there came to him a dream. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


81 


XL 

So wunderbar bin Icli durchdrungen! 

Sind's Traume? Sind’s Erinnerungen? 

sis * *£ ❖ ♦ 

Man darf nicht niezu keuschen Ohren nennen, 

Was keuschen Hertzen niclit entbehren koennen! 

They crowd through me so wondrously ! 

Dreams are they or memories ! 

# % sfc 

To chaste ears one may never name, 

What chaste hearts hardly can forego ! 

Through the falling snow on a new year’s night a 
tall, well dressed man is hurrying along State street, 
Albany, to the Delavan. The hour is nine o’clock 
Suddenly he sees a woman’s face, so wan but so beauti- 
ful, that he halts involuntarily ; the woman also stops 
and says: 

“For God’s sake, dear sir, help a poor woman in dire 
distress.” 

“What can I do for you?” enquires the man. 

The woman hesitates, and at last says in a whisper: 

“I must have money, I will go with you!” 

The man looks behind him and before him, then 
gazes on the pale, beautiful face, and says: 

“Lead on, I will follow!” 

The woman weeps and says: 

“I know not where to go. Take me where you will, 
but not far.” 


82 


THE OWLS OF 


The man offers his arm to the woman. They turn 
into an unfrequented street and disappear within the 
door of a brilliantly lighted house. 

* * * * * 

Now the woman is seen entering a drug store, where 
she procures a bottle of medicine, and then she visits a 
restaurant where she procures a pail of soup for which 
she leaves a deposit. She draws her shawl over her face 
and shoulders, hastens down State street until she 
reaches a tenement house, ascends the rickety stairs, 
traverses a long and dark hall and at last opens a door 
into a room, where, upon a bed under a single blanket 
lies a man in the last stages of consumption. The 
woman removes her shawl and approaches the bed, 
holding in one hand the steaming soup, in the other the 
medicine. 

“God bless you, my darling wife,” he whispers, “kiss 
me." 

The wife sets the pail on the floor, kneels down by 
the bed side, throws her arms around her husband’s 
neck and bursts into an agony of tears. 

“Why do you not kiss me, darling?” 

“Oh, don’t, don’t ask me, I beg; there, there Gottlieb,” 
and she kissed him twice on the lips. 

“There, take this medicine, it will do you good.” 

“How did you get the money, love?” says Gottlieb 
with great difficulty. 

“0, ask me not! God forgive me, a gentleman gave 
it to me!” 

The face of the sick man undergoes an alarming 
change. He assays in vain to speak. 

“Oh, don’t die, darling ! i did it to save you ; forgive 
me!” 


* 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


83 


The dying man raises his arm until it encircles the 
wife’s neck. She holds her ear to catch his last words: 
“I forgive you, and so will our Father in Heaven.” 
The snow falls thick and fast. The candle burns in- 
to its socket. It is cold and dark in the chamber of 
death until the sun rises, dispels the clouds and sends a 
beam through the window, disclosing to the tearless 
eyes of the woman the white face and staring eyes of 
her dead. 

* * * * * 

The ferry boat has just left the New York landing. 
Standing on the larboard bow is the man smok- 
ing a fragrant Havana. In a corner of the ladies’ cabin 
sits the woman, thinly clad, cold, hungry, penniless and 
soon to become a mother. From time to time she gazes 
at a card whereon is written: “The Magda^ 
ien’s Retreat, No. 66 Home Place.” The boat reaches 
the Brooklyn dock and strikes the bridge with a shock. 
The woman starts up in alarm, passes out of the cabin, 
glances at the young man — shrieks and falls to the 
deck. The man throws away the stump of his 
cigar — is about to raise the woman to her feet, turns 
pale, stands for a moment petrified with amazement, 
when a deck hand coming to the aid of the unfortunate 
victim, the man hastens ashore and away. 

* * * * * 

Uneasily Simon Smiley turns in his sleep. 

* * * * * 

The parlors of the Magdalen’s Retreat are filled with 
well dressed ladies and gentlemen. The ladies are mid- 
dle aged, most of the gentlemen older. A young clergy- 
man with very long legs is addressing them. His 


THE OWLS OF 


84 

theme is charity. He names the honorable young man 
who sits between Mrs. Augusta Yan Grroot, the chair- 
woman of the reception committee, and her daughter, 
the beautiful and fashionable bride, Mrs. Simon Smiley. 
To the legislative efforts of the honorable young man 
the Retreat owes its charter, says the reverend speaker. 
“The gratitude of the wretched victim of man’s per- 
fidy, and the praters of her innocent offspring shall be 
his reward. Shame on those heartless Pharisees who pre- 
tend that this Retreat is the convenient cover of licen- 
tiousness. Verity, my friends, you are the good Samari- 
tans. Your trustees have hit the happy means of ad- 
mitting none but the involuntary victim of unbridled 
passion — ” 

Here a message is brought to the chairwoman of the 
reception committee, and she retires to the consulting 
room while the reverend speaker continues: 

“Fortunate the city which contains public spirited 
wives and mothers who devote their time and money to 
this noble charity without neglecting their own domes- 
tic duties — ” 

The chairwoman returps, resumes her seat, and averts 
her flushed face from her honorable son-in-law. 

“Now abide these three, Faith, Hope and Love, but 
the greatest of these, is Love. Yes, Love, that think eth no 
evil, — Love, that does not demand of the needy sister a 
certificate of good character as the condition preceding 
relief. So doing, my friends, you shall find your reward 
above.” 

The preacher closes. Mrs. Yan Groot whispers to 
her daughter and, escorted by Simon Smiley, they follow 
the matron into the consulting room, where around the 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


85 


table soon are seated Mrs. Augusta Van Groot, Rever- 
end Samuel Scavenger, Simon Smiley and young Doctor 
Burton Heyward. Two persons are standing, one the 
matron of the Magdalen's Retreat, the other the woman 
who crossed the ferry. Turning her flushed face to the 
matron, she asks: 

“May I sit?” 

The doctor arose and handed her his chair. 

“Are you a married woman?” asks the matron. 

“I am a widow.” 

Mr. Smiley rises to leave, but the chairwoman grasps 
his arm and holds him back. 

“My husband died last New Year’s eve, in great want!” 

“And when should the child be born?” 

“Must I answer?” 

“Certainly, these are your friends!” 

“About the first of October!” 

The woman covers her face with her hands, and the 
chairwoman vainly endeavors to catch the eye of the 
young man. 

“I am afraid she is not worthy,” says the matron. 

“I am afraid she is not,” says the clergyman. 

“Are you sure that your husband was the father of 
the child,” asks the chairwoman as she tightens her 
grasp on the young man’s arm. 

“Yes, are }u>u sure?” echoes the young clergyman. 

“I am not! I will go!” 

“An applicant is never refused for lack of money, 
simply, but for unworthiness!” says the chairwoman. 

“The managers of this institution must not encour- 
age the social evil, Mrs. Van Groot,” says the clergy- 
man. 


86 THE OWLS OF 

u Wliat do you mean, woman, by staring at that gen- 
tleman?” and the matron points at the honorable young 
man ! 

“’Tis he! The father of my child!” 

“I, never!” he exclaims. 

“For shame!” exclaims the matron and the clergy- 
man. 

“She is not worthy.” 

The applicant falls in a swoon to the floor. 

“She cannot now go,” says the doctor, and the clergy- 
man, the chairwoman and the young man retire. 

Simon Smiley groans in his sleep, and great drops of 
sweat stand, upon his forehead. 

* * * * * 

Mrs. Van Groot enters his library and locks the door 
behind her. Her face is flushed with indignation. 

“Simon, the woman shall remain in the Retreat until 
her child is born, and if it resembles you. woe be to 
you!” 

***** 

Simon awoke, leaped from the sofa, opened the door of 
the library and met Mrs. Van Groot face to face! 

“Did you call ?” enquired the honorable gentleman. 

“ Woe be to you, Simon Smiley ,” was the response. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN 


37 


XII 

Der erste Greis, den ich vernuenftig fand ! 

An old man sensible, the first I found ! 

The reader will naturally enquire how I learned many 
of the details herein recorded. I can now only promise 
to satisfy his curiosity if I shall live to see Peter re- 
formed, and fairly entered upon a new and nobler life. — 
My hand trembles and my sight fails daily. I some- 
times think I might have done better life-work than the 
study of the lower forms of animated Nature. I begin 
now to see that in himself, man must search for the 
promise and potency of the life to come. Inasmuch as 
the contemplation of birds and insects, has enabled me 
more clearly to apprehend the highest manifestation of 
the God-life, my life has not been wasted, and now if I 
may be instrumental in leading one poor fellow from 
the way to destruction, I shall be content to close my 
eyes for the long sleep, perhaps to awake at the dawn of 
the eternal day ! So it is ! When man’s noblest thought 
fills his soul, Death calls him. 

Having in the last chapter made a pen-and-ink sketch 
of the Smiley skeleton, 1 must again revert to the recep- 
tion at the Magdalen’s retreat. A few minutes before 
the scene in the consulting room, so strongly impressed 
upon the memory of Simon Smiley that it was often 
reproduced in his dreams, Mrs. Van Groot had extorted 


88 


THE OWLS OF 


from Eliza Albrecht, the secret of her unborn infant’s 
parentage, and in the presence of the matron, denounced 
the poor woman as a mendacious vagabond for trying to 
blackmail her new son-in-law. Whereupon Eliza drew 
from her bosom a photograph of that gentleman, and 
handed it to the astounded chair- woman, exclaiming : 
“Madame, I never lied in my life ! There is his picture !” 
Shame, mortification and indignation combined to ren- 
der Mrs. Yan Groot speechless for a few moments. 
“You have stolen this from some gallery, to blackmail 
Mr. Smiley !” exclaimed the chair-woman at last. 

Eliza raised her eyes to heaven and prayed in her na- 
tive tongue. 

“Oh, Father in Heaven help me. Thou knowest why 
I sinned. Thou knowest if it was a sin. At least the life 
which stirs under my heart came from Thee, and 0, mv 
child will be sinless!” 

“Let me go, madame. You cannot be ‘a mother. I 
blame not the father of my child. Give me back his 
picture.” 

And Eliza started for the door, but the matron at a 
sign from the chairwoman barred the way. 

“No you don’t, Miss. I shall retain this photograph.” 

“It is mine,” cried Eliza, “I saw the gentleman but 
twice in the streets of Albany. I never spoke to him 
after that awful night my husband died. I saw this pic- 
ture in a gallery and I bought it. Let me go and die!” 

The matron did not move. 

“Will you keep this a profound secret?” whispered 
the chairwoman to the matron. 

“You can rely upon my discretion, Mrs. Yan Groot,” 
answered the matron. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. SO 

“Don’t let the woman pass. Mr. Smiley shall con- 
front her. When Mr. Scavenger shall have closed, send 
for me,” said Mrs. Van Groot, and the matron having- 
stepped aside to permit the chairwoman to leave, locked 
the door behind her and placed the key in her pocket. 
How Simon Smiley was brought face to face with Eliza 
Albrecht in the presence of the doctor, the pastor, the 
matron, and the mother-in-law, and how he denied the 
accusation have been foreshadowed. Whatever the other 
witnesses of this scene may have thought respecting 
Simon Smiley’s acquaintance with Eliza, they all pro- 
fessed to believe in his spotless character. But the 
chairwoman resolved that Eliza's child should be retain- 
ed in the Retreat until she could provide for it a home 
where it could be reared under her supervision. Her 
motive was to preserve living proof of her son-in-law’s 
perfidy, for whom she had suddenly conceived a cordial 
hatred. 

Mrs. Van Groot’s moral standard was most exalted. 
She applied it imperatively to both sexes, and had often 
strenuously endeavored to secure the passage of a reso- 
lution by the members of the Sorosis (of which she was 
president), calling upon the legislature to make the 
marriage of a maiden with a previously inconsistent 
young man voidable, at the suit of the defrauded wife. 
The discovery that her own daughter had been the vic- 
tim of a species of marital fraud was almost intolerable. 
But Mrs. Van Groot having formed her resolution de- 
liberately and skillfully laid her plans, she said not a 
word of the matter to her daughter, but gave the mat- 
ron to understand that her place depended upon her keep- 
ing a strict watch over Eliza. Nevertheless, a few days 


90 


THE OWLS OF 


after the latfcer’s convalescence, the matron with well as- 
sumed fright and confusion, informed Mrs. Van Groot 
that Eliza with her child had escaped from the Retreat in 
the night time. The honest matron did not, however, 
state to the enraged and disconcerted chairwoman that 
the day next before the disappearance she had received 
a call from Simon Smiley, that ten of his gold eagles 
had found their way into her pocket book, that she had 
given one of them to Eliza, and at the same time direct- 
ed her to take the child away from the Retreat, if the 
poor mother desired to prevent its being taken by Mrs. 
Van Groot for adoption! Mrs. Van Groot returned 
home in no amiable mood, and impatiently awaited the 
arrival of her son-in-law. Following him from the din- 
ner table into the library, she exhibited to Simon Smi- 
ley the photograph, and repeated to him Eliza’s decla- 
rations. 

“Confess, you monster,” said she, “that you have be- 
trayed my innocent Jane !” 

“I confess nothing of the kind, Mrs. Van Groot. Even 
if this story was not a lie I do not see how I could have 
betrayed my wife.” 

“Do you suppose I would have permitted my daugh- 
ter to have married a man of no family, if I had known 
he was a rake?” 

“Why not call my wife, dear mother?” asked Simon 
Smiley with imperturbable coolness. 

Mrs. Van Groot’s breath momentarily failed. Finally 
she said: 

“Do you suppose I would communicate the fact of 
}' our shame to my poor child, you wretch? You shall 
leave this house. It is her own! Thank God! You, an 
honorable member of the Legislature!” 


91 


THE AL IV A VS OPEN. 

Mrs. Van Groot had forgotten in her excitement to 
close the library door, and at this moment her daughter 
entered and addressed her mother: 

“What do you mean, mother, by such language 

“Mean, Jane! I will tell you! Your husband is a 
wretch! The father of another woman’s child!” and 
Mrs. Van Groot drew herself up to her full height and 
pointed to Simon Smiley, who simply smiled. 

“Mother, don't be a fool. Simon told me all about 
his wild oats before we were married! Didn’t you, my 
poor, dear Simon, so he was!” and to the horror of her 
mother she embraced her husband and kissed him. 

Mrs. V an Groot was foiled ! She had no alternative 
but to co-operate with her children in concealing their 
domestic skeleton from public view. However, she did 
not abandon her resolution to be avenged for the wrong 
her daughter had so foolishly forgiven. I must now re- 
cord other interesting details pertaining to her history, 
which done, I shall resume, if possible, the thread of this 
narrative. . Perhaps I should add that as all the Alpine 
ranges and rivers culminate near the Saint Gothard, so 
all the threads or episodes of this memoir may be traced 
from the first Always Open night. 


XIII. 

Notwithstanding Simon Smiley was deemed by his 
social and political acquaintances a very fortunate man 


92 THE OWLS OF 

(a conclusion which his fashionable dress a)id smiling 
countenance seemed to warrant) he was nevertheless 
rendered continually miserable by his strong minded 
mother-in-law. Augusta Van Groot was descended 
from the proud and wealthy Van Sluys. Her husband 
had been the handsome, dissipated Diedrich Van Groot, 
the last male scion of the oldest and proudest Dutch 
family of Long Island. Augusta, when married, was 
homely and rich, Diedrich was handsome and poor. Au- 
gusta had no bad habits. Diedrich had three. Died- 
rich was good natured and so wa?i Augusta, so long as 
the former submitted to her rule. Diedrich had been 
persuaded by Rem Jansen, the brewer, to join the 
Knickerbocker club, and inasmuch as Augusta, after the 
birth of their daughter Jane, became neglectful of Die- 
drich, the latter sought society and consolation in the 
rooms of the club. Mrs. Van Groot soon ceased to neg- 
lect. her husband, and began to upbraid him for his pov- 
erty, his dissipation, and general good-for-nothingness. 
Diedrich declared he was detained from home by busi- 
ness with Rem Jansen, which statement was half 
true, for having been driven almost to desperation by 
his wife’s allusions to his poverty, and demands upon 
him for support, he resolved to go into business. A 
conversation which took place one morning at the 
breakfast table between Augusta and Diedrich, at this 
period, is worth recording. Mrs. Van Groot had resum- 
ed her place at the table for the first time after the 
birth of the Van Groot heiress, and said: 

“Mr. Van Groot, now that you have a daughter to 
provide for, I do hope you will find something to do!” 

“Yes, my dear, I shall soon find something I have no 
doubt.” 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


93 


“You are aware I suppose, Mr. Van Groot, that 'the 
law makes it your duty to provide for your family ?” 

“I know it does, my dear, but you are not suffering 
for the necessaries of life, on five thousand a year!” 

"What business is that of yours, Diedrich Van Groot? 
If it were ten thousand a year, I should feel it my duty 
to save it for investment. It is possible that my daugh- 
ter may. live to be as unfortunate as I am. You will not 
leave the table, Mr. Van Groot.” 

“I must go. I have a business engagement with Mr. 
Jansen.” 

"It’s that vile club, I suppose,” said Mrs. Van Groot 
as her husband disappeared. 

The business in which Diedrich Van Groot, with the 
aid of Rem Jansen, was about to engage was the manu- 
facture and sale of Yerba Santa Bitters. A young hab- 
itue of the club, Doctor Mark Smith, recently re- 
turned to Brooklyn, from California, had brought with 
him specimens of the Yerba Santa, a plant of the sage 
family, and had narrated to Vaq Groot and Jansen mar- 
vellous tales of its medicinal qualities. A decoction of 
Yerba Santa would totally eradicate from the system 
not only the alcoholic poison, but also the appetite for 
it. The Californian proposed the formation of a stock 
company of which Van Groot should be the President, 
and Jansen Treasurer, and offered to dispose of the secret 
of Yerba Santa Bitters for a portion of the stock. In 
due time the company was formed and “Yerba Santa,” 
appeared in flaming letters. It was in fact a compound 
of gin, water and a modicum of Calysaya. Certificates of 
the wonderful cures which had been effected by the lib- 
eral use of Yerba Santa Bitters, signed by well known 


S>4 


THE OWLS OF 


clergymen, lawyers, doctors, chemists, temperance ad- 
vocates and reformed drunkards, were circulated every- 
where. Jansen was rich and liberal in his advances for 
advertising. The rocks along railway lines, the barns, 
sheds, and fences along country roads, the panels and 
even window spaces of horse cars, the seats of pleasure 
boats, and the columns of newspapers and magazines, 
secular and religious, bore the inevitable legend. The 
profit on a dollar bottle of Yerba Santa Bitters was sev- 
enty-five cents, arid the company soon began to pay 
large dividends. Diedrich Van Groot became rich and 
respected, the patron of music and the fine arts. His 
wife ceased to remind him of his failings. He was ap- 
pointed a member of the board of education and elected 
a trustee of the PolyJogical College, whose reverend pres- 
ident at a commencement thereof, in introducing the 
new trustee to the ingenious pupils, declared that in 
giving to the world the Yerba Santa Bitters, Diedrich 
Van Groot had written his name high in the list of 
the benefactors of the hitman race, and that he had do- 
nated to the college the magnificent gift of fifty thou- 
sand dollars to found the professorship of Sociology. 
The heiress of the Van Groot’s having meantime been 
duly matriculated a pupil of Madame La Grande’s Fe- 
male Institute, Mrs. Van Groot had become a no less 
important factor in Brooklyn society than her husband. 
She was not only president of the Sorosis, and chair- 
woman of the Magdalen’s Retreat, but senior deacon- 
ness of the temple, and a duly certified lecturer of the 
Woman’s Temperance League. Her public duties de- 
manded most of her time, the remainder of which was 
devoted to her daughter of whom she was very proud. 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 95 

One of her amiable observations reserved for the pres- 
ence and especial benefit of her husband was that Jane 
did not resemble her father in the least. The infer- 
ence being that none of the aroma of Yerba Santa Bit- 
ters was attached to the handsome Jane Van Groot. 

The evening of the Black Friday, Diedrich Van Groot 
was brought home from Wall street hopelessly intoxi- 
cated and borne by his man servant to bed. When 
morning came, he arose, drew from a private drawer 
his revolver and shot himself dead. Diedrich had lost a 
large portion of his fortune by the crash, and preferred 
death to the reproaches of his wife and daughter. By 
skillful management the coroner’s jury were persuaded 
to return a verdict of accidental death, and the local 
journals published eulogistic obituaries of the deceased. 

After the lapse of a decent period the widow and 
daughter doffed their mourning and reentered society. 
Both were besieged by suitors, some of whom had as- 
certained which of the ladies was the richer, before de- 
ciding whom to address. The widow Van Groot, how- 
ever, cooly repelled all matrimonial advances, expressed 
her detestation of the unfair sex in general, and also her 
views respecting the qualities of any man who should 
aspire to possess her daughter's hand. When the ap- 
proaching nuptials of the Honorable Simon Smiley and 
Miss Jane Van Groot were announced, Brooklyn society 
was profoundly interested. The ladies of Mr. Scaven- 
ger's temple and the Magdalen’s Retreat congratulated 
Mrs. Van Groot on her daughter’s good fortune. Si- 
mon Smiley was regarded by his acquaintances the 
happiest man in town, and when the young pastor, in 
the presence of his congregation, declared Simon and 


THE OWLS OF 


96 

J ane to be man and wife, and the organist played the Wed- 
ding March of Mendelssohn, Mrs. Van Groot ostensibly 
raised her costly lace handkerchief to her eyes to hide 
her emotion, and a plainly dressed German woman in 
tile gallery was said to have fainted away, overpowered 
by the heat. 

Nearly a year after the interview between mother 
and son-in-law detailed in a former chapter, an heir to 
Simon’s name and fortune appeared and was duly chris- 
tened by Mr. Scavenger, Nicholas Van Sluys Smiley, 
unquestionably the most wonderful baby that had ever 
condescended to be born in Brooklyn. Mrs. Y an Groot 
declared that the boy was the very image of her mother, 
and since as every one admitted that the mother was but 
a younger duplicate of the grandmother, it followed 
logically that Nicholas was essentially a Van Sluys. 
Simon was proud of his son, but Mrs. Van Groot insist- 
ed that he must not be permitted to take the child, lest 
he should drop it, for she had never seen a man who 
knew how to hold a baby! Simon might now and then 
come into the nursery and see it, that was all. 

At the time our story opens Nicholas, had reached 
the interesting age of sixteen. He was intelligent and 
precocious, but fully impressed with the fact that grand- 
mother Van Groot was the mistress of the Smiley es- 
tablishment. If he needed pocket money, Mrs. Van 
Groot supplied it. When the time came to select for 
him a school, Simon preferred the public school, — his 
wife and the mother-in-law the Polylogical college, and 
to the latter Nicholas was sent. But the young man 
did not always go. The first term he spent four weeks 
reading books of fiction in the rooms of the Young 


97 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 

Men's Evangelical Association, and during the second 
term lie took an excursion with a truant friend to 
Washington, to assist in the inauguration of a new 
president. Simon stormed and threatened to chastise 
Nicholas, but was thwarted by the intervention of the 
ladies of his household. Finally Simon submitted un- 
reservedly to the Van Groot regime , and as his wife had 
prevailed upon the President of the Polylogical College 
to address Nicholas* school report to herself instead of 
the father, the latter remained ignorant of his son’s 
further escapades. Nicholas was a member of Mr. Scav- 
enger’s Sunday school and regularly accompanied his 
parents to church. He was profoundly- interested in 
the pastor’s sketches of the New York haunts of vice, 
and horrified Mrs. Van Groot by declaring his inten- 
tion to see them for himself. He was handsome, always 
fashionably dressed, and possessed of a good supply of 
pocket money. Nicholas had acquired several bad hab- 
its which he had concealed from all the members of the 
Smiley household. He read French novels, played cards 
and drank wine. A number of the students of the col- 
lege had organized "The Excelsior Base Ball Club,” of 
which Nicholas was president. Their game of ball on 
the parade ground was invariably followed by a game of 
draw poker in, their club room, where their landlord, 
who answered to the soubriquet of “Trump” provided 
for them wine and cigars until their financial resources 
were exhausted. 

The opening night of this story the Excelsiors had 
protracted their dissipation to an unusually late hour, 
and so it happened that Simon Smiley encountered his 
son in the deplorable condition which has been described. 


98 


THE OWLS OF 


XIV. 

The Brooklyn Evening News contained an account 
of the abduction of Lora, written in McElroy’s most 
sensational style, wherein Peter was characterized as 
a drunken loafer, and his friend Professor Owler as a 
partially insane vagabond, whose conscience would not 
permit him to rest while his more respectable neighbors 
slept. Mrs. Van Groot and the Smileys read this ver- 
sion of the affair with the greatest interest, and the for- 
mer resolved to call on the Crickets without delay. 

Ruth was a member of Mr. Scavenger’s congregation, 
and therefore Mrs. Van Groot deemed it her duty to 
protest against Lora’s being harbored by the Crickets. 
Accordingly the afternoon of the second day after the 
rescue of Lora, Ruth was much surprised by a visit from 
the distinguished lady, whom she received in the library. 

U I have taken the liberty to call on you, Miss Cricket, 
to see if you would not like to contribute something to 
enable our dear Mr. Scavenger to take a trip to Pales- 
tine. We have estimated that he will require about 
five thousand dollars; we netted but little from the fair, 
you know, and I have been appointed one of our collec- 
tors to call upon the ladies of our congregation. More- 
over I am glad of an excuse to make your acquaintance." 

Mrs. Van Groot smiled blandly, and Ruth appeared to 


THE A L WA YS OPEN. m 

be embarrassed, for she hesitated a moment before re- 
plying. 

“I am honored by your call, Mrs. Van Groot, ami 
should be pleased to contribute something for our min- 
ister, if necessary, but my means are very limited, and 
my brother’s salary is not sufficient to enable us evert 
to take a summer vacation.” 

“I am sorry to hear that you are straitened in pecu- 
niary matters, it is very disagreeable,” said Mrs. Van 
Groot blandly, “but never mind, let me put your name 
down for five dollars. I will advance it — and dear Mr. 
Scavenger will be much pleased to see it in the list. 
Shall it be five, Miss Cricket?” 

“No, no, not for the world, Mrs. Van Groot! It would 
not be right!” interrupted Ruth, the blood mounting to 
her temples. ”1 am sorry, 1 supposed Mr. Scavenger’,* 
salary was large enough to enable him to take all need- 
ed recreation and procure all requisite information re- 
specting Palestine.” 

“Oh, you don’t understand, my dear Miss Cricket. Of 
course our pastor can buy all the books, he wants and 
spend his vacations among the Thousand Islands, but to 
send him to the Holy Land is the thing to do. The 
Rev. Dr. Mildmay’s church sent him last year, and 
since he returned his pews have all been filled and hi* 
lectures on Herculaneum, Alexandria, Thebes, Antioch,. 
Jerusalem, and other places in Palestine, have made him 
very popular. But never mind. I forgot to ask after 
your brother's health. I believe he is quite an invalid?**' 

Ruth colored in spite of herself. 

‘•He is not well, Mrs. Van Groot, but he attends to 
his business at the store regularly.” 


100 


THE OWLS OF 


Mrs. V an Groot had now reached the real object of 
her visit. 

“Is his name Peter?” she asked. 

“It is, Mrs. Van Groot.** 

“I saw a very strange account in last evening’s News 
— something about his having rescued a young woman 
-a Mrs. Johnson — and—” 

“Yes, Mrs. Van Groot,” interrupted Ruth, u we have 
read it. The report is very incorrect and insulting. My 
brother and his friend Mr. Owler refused to be inter- 
viewed and the reporter has therefore libeled them !” 

“I am very glad to hear there is no truth in the state- 
ment. I could not believe for one moment, that you 
had received into your house such a woman as was said 
to have, been abduct — rescued by Mr. Cricket and his 
friend.” 

Ruth’s face again flushed, and she moved uneasily in 
her seat, while Mrs. Van Groot watched her with a 
solemn countenance. 

“Mrs. Van Groot/* said Ruth, at last her indignation 
rising as she thought of the wronged and suffering Lora, 
“The person whom you call such a woman, is now 
under my roof. -She is my brother's ward, and more 
than a sister to me. She is as good as she is beautiful, 
and if she were not, I would not turn her into the street 
like a dog !” 

Ruth, in her enthusiasm, rose to her feet, as did also 
her visitor, who, after a long pause, replied : 

“Mv dear Miss Cricket, if you will permit me to pre- 
sume upon my age and experience, and will state your 
reasons for believing this worn — person’s story, T shall 
feel it my duty to advise you in the matter, and can 


THE AL WA FS OPEN. 101 

then do it intelligently ! What is her name v ” 

“Lora!” 

“A very romantic name ! I suppose it is Lora John- 
son, of course, but I mean her family name !” 

“Mrs. Van Groot, there are reasons why I cannot an- 
swer your inquiry !” 

u 0h, very well, 11 and the visitor shrugging her should- 
ers. “You say that Mrs. Johnson was the ward of Mr, 
Cricket, the paper says she is Hawk Johnson’s 11 

“I know what it says,” interrupted Ruth, with a 
blush. 

“Well, Miss Cricket, I must say I am very much as- 
tonished. You certainly must see that your brother has 
implicated you in what many prove to be a scandalous 
business. I wish you would consult dear Mr. Scavenger 
and follow his advice !” 

“Mrs. Van Groot, will you excuse me a moment,” 
said Ruth. The visitor bowed assent and resumed her 
seat as Ruth retired. 

She was absent but a few minutes, and on her return 
invited Mrs. Van Groot to make Lora’s acquaint- 
ance. The visitor was much surprised, and for a mo- 
ment hesitated, but her curiosity prevailed, and she fol- 
lowed Ruth into the parlor. 

“Mrs. Van Groot, Lora !” 

“Mrs. Johnson,” said the visitor, “I am sorry yon 
are ill. Have you been seriously injured ?” 

“My ankle is broken, and my heart also !” said Lora. 

“Dear me ! I hope not so bad as that !— You must not 
grieve over your husband’s arrest !” 

“I have no husband ! Oh Miss Ruth, how could you 
invite this lady to see me !” 


THE 0 WLS OF 


MQ 

Mrs, Van Groot raised both hands in horror, and 
to med to go from the room ! 

“Mrs. Van Groot,” said Ruth, unable to restrain her 
indignation, “I invited you to see Lora, that from her 
appearance and conversation, you might form a just 
estimate of her character. You, knowing what the 
newspapers have printed respecting her, and having 
been informed by me, that she has a secret, are willing 
to distress her to gratify your curiosity. Your conduct 
is not only unchristian but inhuman, Mrs. Van Groot! 

“Good day, sister Cricket, I trust for your sake that 
•she is Johnson’s wife!” 

“I hope for her sake she is not, madaine !*' 

When Ruth returned to the parlor, she found Lora 
overcome by inexpressible grief. Her head was bowed 
and her tears were falling on the open book she had been 
reading. 

“Oh Lora, forgive me. I did not imagine that woman 
could be so cruel!” 

“Miss Ruth, I cannot bear it! What have I done that 
God should so afflict me?” 

“Lora, darling, listen to me one moment. Did you 
ever think that our Father in Heaven has so ordered, 
that the innocent m (1st suffer for the guilty, that there-* 
% both may be exalted? From the beginning the good 
have shared the consequences of evil doing, and you are 
not exempt. But you have the consolation of a con- 
science void of offense. Peter and I believe you, and — ” 

“Forgive me, Miss Ruth,” said Lora, throwing her 
arms around the neck of her good angel. U I am too 
weak to understand it all, but I know you are good, and 
I will try and become strong for your sake.” 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


103 


XV. 

The Sunday evening next following the restoration 
of Lora to her early home, I was severely attacked by 
my old enemy. Awakening Charles I sent him to the 
nearest drug store for three drams of chloroform. Upon 
his return he gave me a vial containing nitrite of amyl. 
Without delay I saturated my silk handkerchief with 
the mortal poison and inhaled a heavy dose, whose pun- 
gent and offensive odor apprised me of the terrible 
mistake. Seizing my cane and Charles’ arm, we started 
for the Always Open, which I reached almost exhausted. 
The veins of my forehead seemed to be ready to burst. 
My heart almost ceased to throb. Alnight was perch- 
ed upon his high stool near the prescription desk. 
“Amyl,” I gasped, and sank helpless into a vacant chair! 

“Holy Moses, Professor!” exclaimed Alnight, leaping 
to his feet, and seizing a jar labelled spiritus frumenti , 
he filled a glass with the liquor and offered it to me. 

“Drink,” said he. 

He spoke in a loud tone, but his voice seemed to me 
to come from a long distance. 

“No — I — nev-er — take — whiskey — ” I gasped. 

“Good Heaven! Drink or you will die!” and Alnight 
pressed the glass to my lips. 

“Oh, do Professor,” interrupted Charles, wringing his 
hands in despair. “It was not my mistake!” 


104 


THE OWLS OF 


U D n the mistake! For God’s sake take it. Prof- 

essor! Your eyes are sunken back in your head! The 
pupils contracted to a point! You are as pale as a 
corpse !” 

I drank the whisky. 

“There, thank God, it has saved your life,” said Abel 
Alnight, as great drops of sweat rolled from his fore- 
head down over his cheeks to the floor of the Always 
Open. At this moment Charles turned and saw the 
face of a man who appeared to be watching us over the 
desk. 

“Boss,’’ said Charles to Alnight, “who’s dat?” 

“O'Toole, what can I do for you, sir?” 

“I called simply to say that the commissioners have 
resolved to enforce the excise la w r more strictly, and — ” 

“Mr. O’Toole/’ said Alnight, “if you have any busi- 
ness here, do it and be gone, and I may as well say once 
for all that I don’t care to have spies and informers for 
customers.” 

“You’ll be sorry for this,” said O'Toole. “Suppose you 
give me a glass of soda,” 

Alnight glanced at me and perceiving that the whis- 
key had overcome the amyl, proceeded to the fountain. 

“I am not very well, Alnight, and you may put a little 
tonic in the soda,” said O’Toole with a significant 
grin! 

“You are the most extraordinary customer 1 ever saw. 
Why do you not get mad and leave?” 

“Never mind, I profess to be a Christian! I forgive 
you. Give me the medicine. You may need a friend at 
court ere long!” 

Alnight raised a jar labelled “Citrate of Magnesia,” 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


105 

and poured out a glass full, which O'Toole swallowed at 
a draught. 

“I’ll try another,” said he as he placed a quarter on 
the counter. 

Another glassful was likewise disposed of. 

“There, I feel better now. Good morning,” said 
O’Toole and. departed. 

“Yes, that dose will fix him,” muttered Alnight in a 
tone of satisfaction, and returned to his perch. 

I arose from my chair and seized Alnight’s hand, 
saying: “You have saved my life. Perhaps I may some- 
time serve you!” 

“Don’t mention it, Professor, I am not the worst man 
in the world, I hope. Spiritus frumenti has its uses as 
well as its abuses, you see.” 

I did not reply, but directed Charles to return home. 

“I have witnessed here many narrow escapes, and 
have learned to keep my wits about me. Your spasm is 
all gone, I see now.” 

T nodded assent, and Alnight continued : 

“Perhaps the most thrilling thing I ever beheld here 
was an operation performed by Doctor Rose some' ten 
vears ago. When he was young he was the physician 
to the Magdalen's Retreat in Home Place. He was at 
that time as sober as a judge, and was one of the most 
skillful surgeons in town. But for some reason he got 
to drinking, and went it very strong. Finally they dis- 
missed him from the Retreat and he took an office just 
over the way. Well, one night— I shall never forgefit — 
it was the same night a poor woman with a young 
child in her arms came in and begged two cents to cross 
the ferry. I gave her a quarter I know, for T had no 


106 THE OWLS OF 

coppers. Dr. Rose came in as tight as a brick and sat 
down in a chair there in front of the desk, and fell 
asleep. It was a fearfully stormy night, and there were 
but two callers, and I let him sleep. At about one o’clock 
a lamplighter named Schoenberg came in and gave me 
a prescription. While I was engaged in filling it Dr. Rose 
awoke, and seeing that the German had a tumor on his 
neck, suddenly jumped up and said:” 

“Why don’t you have that removed?” and before I 
could stop it the doctor had pulled the man down into 
the chair and drew out his lancet. The German was 
completely taken by surprise. 

“For God’s sake, Doc., what are you about?” said I, 
leaping over the counter. 

“Don’t move,” said the doctor as he drew the lancet 
across the tumor, from which the yellow pus freely 
flowed. 

I was horrified, and so was the man. I dared not in- 
terfere and the man did not move. To my astonish- 
ment the surgeon’s hand was steady and his face which 
had hitherto been flushed from the effect of alcohol, 
was now as pale as a sheet. The tumor was attached 
to the wall of the carotid artery, and the discovery had 
sobered the surgeon. Using the back of his lancet he 
gradually and surely separated the sack of the tumor 
from the wall of the artery, through which I could dis- 
tinctly behold the rapid pulsation of the heart's blood. 
At last, (it seemed to me an age, but it was less than 
two minutes,) Surgeon Rose shouted: 

“Done! Thank God,” and caught hold of me for sup- 
port. 

The German said that the doctors at Bellevue, after 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


107 

consultation, had refused to undertake what Dr. Rose 
had successfully performed. He often comes here sim- 
ply to enquire after my welfare. 

“What became of the surgeon ?” I asked. 

“Poor fellow, not long afterward he caught the diph- 
theria from a charity patient, and like a soldier died at 
his post! I shall never see his like again!” 

A knock was heard, and the face of Peter Cricket was 
seen through the glass door of the Jefferson street en- 
trance. 

“What, you back again, Horn Spoon? Why don't you 
go home?” said Alnight. 

Peter, seeing me, did not reply, but opened the door, 
rushed forward and seized my hand : 

“By the great Horn Spoon ! How glad I am to meet 
you again ! What will you have?” 

“Nothing, Peter ! I have sworn off! I am sick and i 
believe you have had enough !” 

“Right you are ! Professor, but don't shut down too 
suddenly.” 

“You have had enough, Peter,” said Alnight. 

“Don't diagnose my nose too suddenly [ I need a 
little juniper for medicine. You sell only for medical 
purposes I know ! I am sick. 

It was a cough 
That took me off, 

It was a coffin 
They took me off in. 

Besides, here’s my learned friend, the Professor. He 
has sworn of, like Rip Van Winkle. He needs a little 
spirltus frumenti to improve his complexion. By the 
way, I have a contract with Mr. Pluto, commissioner of 
the infernal water board. Have you any good inten- 


THE OWLS OF 


108 

tions to sell ? I can pay the highest market price.'' 

“Peter,” said Alnight, “The Professor is not disposed 
to joke !” 

“Come, you ought to go home !” 

“Right you are — don't swear off — swear not at al l — 
says the book. Be regular in your habits, like me !” 

“How is Miss Lora, Peter !” said I gravely. Peter 
• started back as if shot. 

“Did you read my story,” he asked. 

“Every word,” I answered. 

Peter walked around in front of the desk, smote his 
forehead several times, and then walked to the south 
door of the Always Open, and there stood. 

I arose and joined him. “Peter,” said T. “you are not 
feeling well.” 

He turned his face to me, and I saw it was bathed in 
tears. 

“Lora is very sick, and I wish I were dead and buried ! 
Alnight, give me another dose !” 

In vain I endeavored to restrain Peter from further 
intoxication. 

“One more, Doc., and I’ll leave you !” 

Upon this promise, Peter was again supplied with 
soda and spirit us fruinenti ” while I worked on, wonder- 
ing how I should prevail upon him to go home. In a 
moment he began to sing : 

“For Duffy's sold horrible liquor, 

It made us all horribly tight, 

His bar room it never looked sicker, 

On Duffy’s wild opening night!” 

“Peter, shall I go to your home alone, and tell Ruth 
where and how you are?” said I— 

“Well, come on— -you are a good fellow. It is such 


THE ALWAYS OP EE. 


109 


as von that makes one believe in the brotherhood of 
man, and the fatherhood of God !” 

“Don’t apply such language to me, Peter ! Here is a 
car !” 

Peter refused to enter, and f was compelled to escort 
him along Jefferson street. As we passed the corner of 
Jefferson and Adams streets, we saw a strange spectacle, 
— a mau, or more accurately, the torso of a man alight 
from a passing street car, on his hands, and using them 
for feet, and the bust or torso for a point of support, 
move across tjie sidewalk, pass us and locate himself on 
the corner. Peter paused and surveyed the singular ob- 
ject with great interest. Finally he addressed him: 

“Bay, friend, did Uncle Sam shoot you, or did you lose 
your legs in a walking match?” 

“I was run over by a car,” said the torso as he re- 
ceived a large bundle of newspapers from a news boy. 

“Well, my fine fellow, you need not give bail if they 
ever arrest you. Let me have a paper !” 

"Which?” said the torso. 

“I’ll take a specimen of each ! The Sunday Eagle, 
and the Sunday Sun, and the Sunday Herald, and the 
Sunday Times, and the Sunday Record. Here’s the 
change.” 

So saying, Peter thrust a dollar bill into the news 
vendor’s hand, and the bundle of papers into mine. 

“Nothing like literature, Professor, except more of 
the same sort. I have estimated that if during the last 
twenty years I had devoted my Sabbaths to useful 
study, instead of Sunday newspapers, I should have ac- 
quired a practical knowledge of French and German.” 

“And what would have been worth much more, Peter, 


110 


THE OWLH OF 


you would not at this late day, be compelled to engage 
in a mortal combat with Alcohol !” 

*‘1 think I will go home with you and inspect your 
birds and bugs, while you read the papers,” said Peter, 
with a piteous glance. 

We were admitted by Charles, who was delighted to 
see me much improved, and able to breathe freely. He 
had prepared a frugal breakfast of coffee and rolls, which 
I persuaded Peter to share with me. We ate and drank 
in silence, until Peter enquired : 

•’Professor, do you suppose I can win the fight?” 

“You must win it. for Lora’s sake — for your soul's 
sake !” 

“And why for her sake?” 

“Because you love her, and love is the soul’s pana- 
cea !” 


XVI. 

The evening of the interview recorded in the last 
chapter, Mrs. Smiley and her misanthropic mother en- 
tered the hall of the Sorosis, at the usual hour of meet- 
ing. Most of the ladies were assembled, and greeted 
their President with applause, as she ascended the plat- 
form. removed her hat and cloak, assumed the chair, 
and called the Sorosis to order. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


Ill 


"The first business is the reading of the minutes of 
the last meeting.” 

The Secretary, a tall, short-haired maiden lady, of un- 
certain age, arose. She was evidently affected with 
myopica, for she adjusted a pair of golden rimmed eye- 
glasses, before reading as follows : 

Sorosis Hall, Oct. 1. 

The regular meeting was called to order by the chair- 
man, and the minutes were read. Mrs. Rose moved to 
correct the minutes, by substituting “chairwoman,” and 
insisted that to designate the presiding officer of the 
Sorosis, as a chairman was a solecism. 

Mrs. Strong seconding the motion, declared that she 
could not tolerate the word ; that she had left one man 
to earn an independent living as a sales- woman, and 
that if her employer should call her a salesman, she 
would leave him. 

Mrs. Smiley said she had no objections to a man in 
his proper sphere. That the word chairman was not 
used in a generic sense, but that it was an official title 
which men ought not to be allowed to monopolize. 

Mrs. Snapp, declared that she was a journalist, and 
not a journaless, and that she would as well call a fe- 
male broker a brokeress. 

Mrs. Margin said, she was a Wall street broker, and 
did not care what she was called, so long as her cus- 
tomers’ calls were profitable. 

Mrs. Hope arose, attempted to address the chair, be- 
came confused, resumed her seat and burst into tears. 

Mrs. Margin laughed audibly, and was sharply called 
to order. Finally the matter was laid on the table. 


112 


THE OWLS OF 


Under the head of miscellaneous business the chairman 
read the following communication : 

New York. Sept. 20. 

Dear Madame. 

If agreeable I shall be pleased to read before the Soro- 
sis a paper entitled, “Woman, Man’s Superior.” Wishing 
you success in your efforts to ameliorate the condition 
of the sex, I am yours truly, 

Semir a mis Killm a k. 

To Mrs. Augusta Yak Groot, 

Chairman of the Brooklyn Sorosis. 

The chairman was authorized to accept the proposi- 
tion of Mrs. Killman, with thanks. 

Mrs. Barr, of the Law Committee, reported two pro- 
posed bills, one for the limitation of offspring, the other 
for the organization of an Amazonian State Guard. 

On motion the Sorosis adjourned for a symposium at 
Wiley’s. 

The minutes having been adopted. Mrs. Semiramis 
Killman was invited to the platform. She was a large 
woman, dressed plainly in black. Her face appeared to 
be powered. Her white hair hung in ringlets. She 
wore spectacles, and read her essay in what seemed to 
Mrs. Margin to be a very masculine tone. The chair- 
man in introducing Mrs. Killman stated that she had 
acquired a national reputation through her efforts to 
secure female suffrage, and that the Sorosis was happy 
to welcome her fi rst appearance in the city of churches. 
Mrs. Margin was seen to cover her face, and shake with 
laughter, much to the chairman's annoyance, as Mrs. 
Killman proceeded to read : 


WOMAN, MAN^ SUPERIOR. 

Every step in man’s progress from the cave of the 
stone age to the brown-stone front of the dawning era 
of gold, is marked by a corresponding change in his 
views respecting woman’s proper place in the social or- 
ganism. While the ferocious male ante-diluvian troglo- 
dyte hunts the mammoth elk or dodo, or encounters 
his savage neighbor in deadly combat, his wretched fe- 
male, imprisoned in a subterranean abode, depriv- 
ed of most of the necessaries, and all the comforts of 
life and burdened by an excess of offspring, is obliged 
to strike fire by the slow and uncertain process of fric- 
tion, skin her lord’s gigantic quarry, and cook an enor- 
mous quantity of its flesh to mitigate his insatiable 
appetite. Stupefied bv gluttony, he snores till the 
stalactites begin to fall. She, followed by her offspring, 
escapes to the mouth of the cavern, and seated on the 
foot of a cold glacier catches glimpses of the pale sun 
through the snow laden boughs. Notwithstanding 
her deplorable condition she is his superior in all res- 
pects except brute force. Had she been instructed in 
modern expedients she would feign illness, until hunger 
compels him to prepare his food, or resolutely deny 
him marital rights until he be thoroughly reformed, 
in this primeval age he could not have found drinks 
and a free lunch in a hospitable hotel, or fashionable 
club house. 

Let me draw another sketch : In the near future you 
shall see the family limited in accordance with the 
father's means and subject to the mother’s exclusive 
control. Before the law mid at the polls the husband’s 
equal, in the home, in society, and in the church she 


14 


THE O WLS OF 


shall be recognized as his superior. Released from, f he 
slavery of household drudgery, she will have found time 
to add intellectual culture to the charms of beauty and 
refinement. Protected by law in the exclusive enjoy- 
ment of her own property, she will be relieved from the 
humiliating necessity of asking her husband for money, 
unless she shall be so foolish as to marry a poor man, 
or to live with one who shall have failed to become rich. 

(1 ) Woman was orginally man’s superior. If we ac- 
cept the Mosaic record of her origin, she was the 
Creators second revised and improved edition. While 
Adam was formed from dirt, Eve was developed from 
bone. She was made to supply Adam’s deficiency and 
was called his helpmate. But for her he had never 
known good from evil, never have had an opportunity 
to rise from savage ignorance to refined culture. 

(2) Organically she is his superior. While her phy- 
sique is in all respects perfect, some of his organs are but 
rudimentary : in other words man is but an imperfect 
woman. 

If we study the lower forms of life we shall find that 
the male is a superfluous drone, neither useful nor orna- 
mental. As we rise in the scale of living organisms 
the number of offspring diminishes, clearly showing . 
that man should reasonably control his animal im- 
pulses. 

Woman is mentally man’s superior. She possessed 
not only all his intellectual faculties, but also clairvoy- 
ant intuition. What man acquires by the slow proces- 
ses of experiment and reason, she knows by instinct. 
While man wanders in the mazes of physical inyestigaJ 
tion, she rises to a clearer and more exalted plane of 


THE ALWAYS Ol'EX. 


11 & 

thought and action. The learned Doctor Tyndall as- 
sorts’ that, “the most powerful of all passions is the am- 
atory . 11 I insist that maternal love is not only the 
strongest but the most unselfish of passions. I have 
known a highly gifted woman devote her life to the 
care of an imbecile son who could neither comprehend 
nor return her affection. When the criminal is aban- 
doned by his wife and children his aged mother follows 
him with her prayers and tears. 

The idea that woman’s exclusive sphere is the house- 
hold, is absurd. The function of maternity demands; 
but a fraction of her life. So soon as her children are 
self sustaining, why may she not enter upon scientific 
investigation, pursue letters, practice law or medicine, 
assume the pastoral relation, or engage in political dis- 
cussion ? Her co-operation with man in these pursuit* 
will purify society from all its evils. She will become* 
more manly, lie more womanly, and thus they will be- 
come more closely united. The great Agassiz wrote a 
treatise proving woman to be man’s superior. And! 
Goethe declares that in the spirit world it is the 
eternal womanly element which leads man onward and 
upward forever.” 

Mrs. Killman closed amid great applause, pleaded 
another engagement, and left the hall, followed by Mis*. 
Margin. While the Sorosis were adopting a vote of 
thanks to the reader, Mrs. Margin caught her-compan- 
ion’s arm, burst into a hearty laugh and exclaimed : 

“Mac., yon did that splendidly!” 

Mrs. Killman removed from her face a mask and dis- 
closed the rubicund bice of Andrew McElroy. the re- 
porter! 


THE OWLS OF 


116 

"Kate,” said he, “I have won my bet. and as soon as 
I shall have crawled out of this Sorosisrig we will have 
a bottle of Heidsick and a fete a fete at Wiley’s. 


XVII. 

The meeting of the Anti-Gin-Mill Association had 
been advertised to be held at the temple, which, at the 
hour appointed, I found well filled by a very 
respectable audience. Seated on the platform were 
the pastor, Simon Smiley, General O’Toole, and other 
prominent members of the association. A matronly 
lady ascended the steps to the platform, was cordially 
greeted by the pastor, and took a chair next to that of 
Mr. Smiley. “Deacon Smiley’s mother-in-law!” whis- 
pered my next neighbor to his friend. To my utter as- 
tonishment 1 saw Peter Cricket, neatly dressed in a new 
suit, walk down the middle aisle and seat him&elf 
squarely in front of General O’Toole, just as the organ- 
ist had finished playing the Overture in Freischuetz, in 
which he had interpolated the prayer. “Leise, leise, 
fromme weise,” the most beautiful of melodies. Then 
arose Mr. Scavenger and said: 

“Ladies and Gentlemen: — All good as well as all bad 
things in this world of ours are affiliated in accordance 
with the maxim, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.” 

At this point Mrs. Van Groot discovered the close- 


THE A L WA YS OPEN. 1 1 ? 

proximity of Simon Smiley, and t urned tin If wa v around 
on her seat. 

“Therefore it happens," continued the speaker, “that 
the temperance movement began in the church, and is 
promoted by devout men and women to this day. There- 
fore it happens that almost all the evils which afflict 
society are closely allied to rum. Show me a rum 
drinker and I will show you a gambler, a rake, and a 
dishonest man. Find me a Christian and I will show 
you a temperate man, a good son, husband, or father, 
and an upright citizen. Such a man T now propose to 
preside over our deliberations this evening. The Hon- 
orable Simon Smiley ." 1 

Great applause followed this introduction, which hav- 
ing ceased the newly appointed chairman, with consid- 
erable embarrassment, spoke as follows: 

“Ladies and Gentlemen: It has ever been my rule of 
action neither to seek nor refuse an office. This honor, 
which I gratefull} accept, is to me a complete, surprise. 
The immediate object of this meeting is to support the 
measures, recently adopted by our excise commissioners, 
for the enforcement of existing laws respecting the 
sale of alcoholic drinks. We have with us to-night a 
gentleman, once a drunkard and a rumseller, now the 
most effective agent of our association, who will .address 
you: General O’Toole . 11 

“By the Great Horn Spoon!” said Peter Cricket loud 
enough to be heard by those in the immediate vicinity 
and on the platform. 

General O’Toole was much disconcerted and stood 
for at least two minutes gazing at Peter and unable to 
speak. The chairman came to his rescue, by rising and 
saying: 


JI6 


THE 0 WL8 OF 


“There is some one in this audience who is disposed 
to disturb the meeting. I trust the officer at the door 
will aid me in preserving order .’ 1 

Meantime O’Toole was engaged in searching the 
jpocketfi of his coat for a manuscript he could not find. 

“Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen — I labor un- 
der a good deal of difficulty, having lost my speech.” 

“Never mind, any other will do as well.” said a voice 
which came from the direction of Mrs. Van Groot. 

This lady started to her feet as did Simon Smiley, 
who requested the officers to advance and take a. posi- 
tion near the speaker. 

“As your Reverend pastor has said, I am a refonued 
drunkard. Not many years ago I was engaged in the 
nefariohs traffic of selling rum.” 

“And d — — n poor stuff it was !” said the voice from 
beneath the pastor’s chair. This time the pastor arose 
white with anger. 

“There is a ventriloquist here! Ladies and Gentlemen, 
shall this annoyance be longer tolerated? Mr. Chair- 
man I call upon yon to keep order.” 

At this moment Peter Cricket arose and addressed 
the chair: 

“I second the pastor’s motion. Order must and shall 
be preserved. I suggest that the speaker raise his voice 
in order that we may hear it above that- of the ventril- 
*Kjnist.” 

Evidently Peter was unknown to any person present 
save CT Toole and myself, for his suggestion was receiv- 
ed with applause. 

“Through the prayers of pious ladies who did not 
Jfoesitate to seek me in my saloon,” resumed O'Toole — 


THE ALWAYS OPEN . 


119 


“And pay you for your rot-gut,” interrupted the 
voice. 

“I was brought to realize the true character of the 
business, in which 1 was engaged, and ” 

(“To sell out at a profit,”) said the voice ! 

— “and to join the ranks of the cold water army ! (ap- 
plause.) For two years, I have labored to the best of 
my ability, in bringing to justice the violators of the 
law and — ” 

“In evading payment of your butcher, and grocer,” 
— “and in so doing, have undergone much persecution. 
I desire to speak more particularly to-night, of the 
places where liquor is sold in open violation of the 
law', and with the connivance of the officers of the law. 
You may stand any Sunday as I have done, and watch 
toper after toper, enter the side door of saloons.” 

“As I have seen you,” interrupted the voice ! 

“And still their proprietors are not prosecuted. Then, 
again, in the drug stores, alcohol is sold without regard 
to the law, mixed with soda, at all hours of the night. 
Why, last Suuday morning,” and here the speaker hav- 
ing recovered from his embarrassment, raised his voice 
to a higher pitch, “I saw the clerk of the Always Open, 
furnish a full glass of whiskey to an old man so intoxi- 
cated he could not stand.” 

“He lies, by the Great Horn Spoon !” shouted Peter, 
forgetting himself. 

He was at once seized by the officer who recognized 
him. 

“Put him out ! Put him out !” cried a hundred at 
once. 

“No,” said I, rising and climbing on a seat. “Do not 


120 


THE OWLS' OF 


put him out ! I was the old man who drank the whis- 
key, and I assure you I needed it. ,, 

“There he is, Professor Owler !” shouted Peter ! 

For a few minutes, all was confusion. The chairman 
finally succeeded in restoring order, when the pastor’s 
voice was heard, saying : 

“We invite Professor Owler, and the gentleman with 
the Great Horn Spoon, to take seats on the platform/’ 

Shouts of laughter greeted this happy invitation. 1 
ascended the platform, and Peter was escorted to a seat 
near me by the officer. 

“General, you may proceed, now that order is re- 
stored r 

O’Toole resumed: “lam notin' the habit of being 
culled a liar in public/and I protest against the presence 
of that man on the stage,” and the speaker turned, poin- 
ted to Peter, and then sat down. 

“Horn Spoon ! Horn Spoon ! Speech ! Speech H cried 
the audience. 

Simon Smiley, much disconcerted, turned and beck- 
oned Peter forward. Bowing to the chairman and the 
audience, he spoke as follows : 

“Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen : Last night 
upon my knees, I registered a solemn vow never again 
to raise to my lips the intoxicating cup. To-night, I 
come seeking the society of good men and 'women, to be 
confronted by that lying spy !" 

Here O’Toole rose to his feet, and demanded to be 
heard. 

Peter continued: “Last Sunday morning that gray 
haired and learned old man, (pointing to me) was given 
by mistake of a clerk, a deadly poison.' His life wn* 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. \-n 

saved by the night clerk of the Always Open, who ad- 
ministered to him in time a glass of whiskey. 

Therefore, when this military, reformed detective de- 
clared that Professor -Owler was intoxicated, I de- 
nounced him as a liar / 1 

“Order ! order ! sir," said the chairman. 

“Am I not in order ! Go at once, General O’Toole, or 
F will expose your double dealing in the presence of this 
audience; and stand not on the order of your going !" 
And Peter drew himself, up to his full height, and turn- 
ing squarely upon O’Toole, pointed to the door ! 

General O’Toole looked to the right and to the left, 
waited vainly for a word of disapproval, then arose, hat 
in hand, left the platform and slunk out of the temple. 

* But Peter proceeded: “There was a Judas among the 
twelve. You are well rid of yours ! There are sutler's 
and bummers in the rear of every army, but you do not 
need, spies in time of peace ! It is not for me, who have 
wasted health, fortune and precious years in dissipation, 
to advise you, but one thing I must say. You can 
never reform the dr unkard by legislation ! You cannot 
even remove from him the temptation by legislation ! 
The result of the strict enforcement of the Maine law. 
has been the increase of intemperance and crime. Leave 
to the citizen his. civil liberty, and hold him criminally 
responsible for its abuse. Alcohol has its uses as well 
as its abuses. Alcohol is not properly guilty of all the 
crimes laid at its door. Once I asked a sot, formerly a 
wealthy merchant, what was the cause of his fall, and 
he answered : ‘My wife proved unfaithful, made my 
home a hell, and I sought forgetfulness in the cup/ 
Once I visited the tombs and asked a wretched female 


THE OWLS OF 


122 

why slie drank, and she answered : ‘Sir, once I was 
young, the pride of my parents, with rich suitors at my 
feet, who called me beautiful. At the request of my 
lover, I learned to drink wine, and 'when he deserted me, 
I was in despair, and drank nore and more, until here I 
am.’ Another whom I met at the Always Open, and 
who has often been my boon companion, said to me : 
'Peter, would you know why I am a drunkard ? It was 
born in me f And still another told me that his first 
dram was prescribed by his doctor. So, Mr. chairman, 
ladies and gentlemen, let us not too readily denounce 
the rumseller. If it is wicked to sell, it is wicked to 
drink. The sin is neither in selling nor in drinking, 
but. in selling adulterated liquors to drunken men and 
minors, and in drinking to gratify the depraved appetite ! 
Do not forget that alcoholism is a disease. That the 
victim must not, be denounced, but cared for and cured. 
Oh. mothers, sisters and wives, be patient, be long suf- 
fering. Do not upbraid the poor drunkard, sick in 
body, mind and soul. He is not himself ; it is your 
work to restore him. Let each good man and woman 
in this audiepce, become a committee of one to seek out 
and save such as I. There are greater crimes than in- 
toxication. and one is hypocrisy. Christian brother 
and sister, when next you see a poor man or woman 
reeling in the street, don't call a policeman, but take 
him or her by the hapd—lest one day ye shall hear the 
terrible sentence, “Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of 
the least of these, ye did it not to me f ' So saying, Peter 
bowed- to the audience and chairman, and taking me by 
the arm, led me out of the temple. 


THE AL WA VS OPEN. 


l&S 


XVIII. 

So astonished was I at this revelation of Peter’s pow- 
ers that I remained silent, until he said: 

“Professor, I am sorry I disturbed the meeting, but I 
could not help it.” 

“It is all right, Peter ; so you were the ventriloquist? 
come with me,” and I led the way to my sanctum. 
“Peter, T know you have something important to tell 
me.” 

“Yes, I have Professor, I have met a- man or an angel, 
or both, who has done me a world of good. And be- 
sides Lora does love me! Well, it is a long story. One 
thing I have not yet overcome, you see,” and he took 
out a cigar and begged permission to smoke. 

“Can you talk and smoke at once?” 

“No, Professor, but I can smoke at the periods.” 

“Well, to begin: I winder you did not enquire of me 
last Sunday as to what efforts I put forth to find Lora.” 

“Because you were too much excited to talk about it.” 

“Just so, Professor, right, you are. In point of fact l 
exhausted all my resources in my vain search. I adver- 
tised, employed detectives, visited the morgue and scan- 
ned the face of every young woman I met, in vain, and 
where do you suppose she has been these two years?’' 

“In- a sham insane asylum,. like your poor mother.” 


124 


THE OWLS OF 


“STo” 

“Living in a respectable house with Hawk Johnson! 
“No,” 

“Well, tell me ; I am all attention.” 

“You shall have it exactly as Lora told it in the 
presence of Ruth and myself. The day next following 
that of Lora’s rescue, Ruth aroused me from sleep, say- 
ing that Lora would see me. She lay on the sofa in the 
parlor, supported by a pillow, aud with one hand in 
Ruth’s and the other in mine — and her voice — how 
sweet it is— the poor child. You will remember that 
Lora left her home one morning for school and did not 
return. She was waiting for a car on the corner of 
James street and DeKalb avenue, when a plainly dress- 
ed middle aged woman placed in her hand a letter, and 
without a word turned and rapidly walked away. Lora, 
astonished beyond measure, watched the woman disap- 
pear, and forgetting the car, broke the envelope and 
read as she hurried down the avenue. Here is the let- 
ter. I show r it to you by permission of Lora and her 
mother.” 

“Her, mother!” I exclaimed, took the letter and read: 

Room 42, Bleeker Terrace, 

October 15, 1 870. 

Mr Dear Miss Lora: 

Perhaps I am now doing you a greater wrong than 
when I tore you from your mother’s breast and laid you 
at John Cricket’s door. Do not think me insane, but. 
read on, darling, and forgive me if you can. I nursed 
you when an infant, and from the time you began to 
attend your school T have watched yon. Have you not 


THE A !. WA YS OPEN. 


125 

often seen me when you crossed Fort Greene on vonr 
way ? How r I have longed to rush and embrace you and 
say to you what now I write. Lora, you are my own 
child! Yes, the mother’s love must prevail. You have 
been told that you are the child of John and Louise 
Cricket, the child of their old age, the pledge of their 
reunion, after a long and painful separation. Your 
more than friend, your guardian. Mr. Peter Cricket, has 
so informed von, doubtless for your good as he rightly 
supposed. But now. acting under the advice of one 
whom I must respect. I tell you the truth. You have 
reached a most critical age. Soon von will be a woman. 
There are those, other than Peter, his good sister and 
myself, who know the secret of your birth. Your 
father knows it!” 

‘‘Lora read thus far, glanced at the signature. “Eliza 
Schoenberg.” thrust the letter in her bosom and hurried 
down the avenue, to Fort Greene, ascended to the 
arbor, dropped into the first seat and resumed the read- 
ing of the letter.” 

“He is living, rich and honored, and his name is not 
Schoenberg, neither is it Albrecht. Oh, my child, you 
know nothing of the trials' and temptations of life. May 
God spare you! To procure food and medicine for the 
dying husband of my youth, 1 sold nry honor! Now' 1 
suffer the penalty. Do you believe me, Lora darling? 
Can you believe that the pain of this horrible disclo- 
sure is to me an exqusite pleasure? Yes, Lora, if you re- 
ject your mother's love, if you scorn me for my sin, i 
shall still be content. I was poor, oh, very poor. 1 
was told to go to the Magdalen's Retreat, and there, 
sixteen years ago, you were born— -and from thence I 


THE OWLS OF 


126 

was dismissed with you in my arms! Our separation 
was not long. I watched the papers. How my heart 
leaped when 1 saw Ruth's advertisement for a wet 
nurse. T was accepted and again clasped you to my 
breast. I was a member of John Cricket’s household 
until I received an oiler of marriage from a respectable 
German, Carl Schoenberg. I then resolved to leave yon 
for our own good, wholly to disappear from your life, 
so that you might be reared as Lora Cricket, and enjoy 
all the social and educational advantages of your posi- 
tion. The dread of your prospects being marred by 
my presence in the Cricket household was uppermost. 
I left your home without informing Peter or Ruth, and 
married Schoenberg. He is a lamplighter; we live in 
Rleeker Terrace. You enter from Long street, pass un- 
der the arch into, the court, then enquire of the janitor. 
I am waiting for you. Lora. Oh, shall I wait in vain? I 
do not ask you to share my humble home — but I do beg 
you to love me —for my heart is famished. My hus- 
band is a good man, but he loves his wine and is away 
all night, and by day he sleeps. He is sleeping now. 
What I have told you, I have never told him. What 
shall I do? If he knew all he might kill me, and yet he 
might be proud of you. So, if he wakes when you are 
here, you must be careful. Oh, it is better that you 
should learn the truth from your own mother, and I 
know that whatever you decide, my secret is safe in my 
child’s keeping. 

Now' that it is done I sink on my knees and pray our 
Father in Heaven to guide us aright. 

Your own loving mother, 

Eliza Schoenberg. 

To Miss Lora . 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


1'17 

u 0h, mother! I have a mother! But, who is my fa- 
ther? Oh, mv God! What am I?” cried poor Lora. 

She heard footsteps. She started to her feet. The 
city hall clock struck nine. She turned and saw an 
aged man ascending the terrace steps. He carried a 
cane, and rested his left hand on his hip. He paused at 
the sight of Lora’s face. 

"What is the matter, my child?’’ said he kindly. She 
read naught but goodness in his clear grey eye, and 
trusted him. 

“Oh, sir, can you tell me the way to Bleeker Ter- 
race?” 

“Yes, it is in Long street. You descend to the plaza, 
pass down that street to the arsenal — but you are weep- 
ing! Can I help you?” 

“Oh, I do not know,” and Lora broke down utterly. 
The old man was alarmed. 

“Do not grieve! Be calm! Listen! How those birds 
sing! Are you not going to school?” 

“No, never again!” 

“My child, go and comfort your mother and may God 
bless you!” 

Lora started back in alarm, turned and fled toward 
the Myrtle avenue entrance! 

“He knows my secret, and he must despise me! Now 
i will see my mother!" 

“Carl Schoenberg,” continued Peter, “awoke at eight 
o’clock in the morning and finding that his wife was 
absent, dressed himself and began to eat his frugal 
breakfast, which his wife had prepared before leaving to 
meet Lora. Carl was in bad humor and continued to 
mutter to himself: 


THE OWLS OF 


128 

‘What can be the matter with that wife of mine! She 
has behaved very queerly for a long time. So well edu- 
cated, too. I don’t believe in so much book learning for 
women. It spoils them for housekeeping. But she did 
get the breakfast — well, she runs away while I sleep and 
I’ll walk away while she is awake. I’ll go to Heine's. 
McElroy will be there, and w 7 e will have a game of pe- 
nuckle, and a glass of Missouri. What a noble fellow 
Heine is; so good to his old mother! He is too honest. 
His wines are not adulterated. But he allows us to 
hang up too much and too long ! That’s what’s the 
matter with Heine ! How politely he sho^ved O’Toolo 
the door last Sunday afternoon ! Heine recognized his 
teeth under the false mustache at once. Die verfiuchte 
Temperenzler! Geb mir einen freien Mann auf freiem 
Lande. They won’t let a freeman on Sunday take a 
glass of wine with his mother, in his own home. 5 

At this moment Mrs. Schoenberg entered, and w 7 as 
surprised not to find her husband asleep. The latter 
demanded where his wife had been. The reply was, out 
for a walk on Fort Greene. Schoenberg did not under- 
stand what she found on Fort Greene so attractive, and 
his wife volunteered no further information. The hus- 
band’s anger was rising fast, when a knock was heard. 

“Thank God ! Lora has come !” cried the wife ! 

Schoenberg stood petrified with astonishment, at see- 
his wife rush to the door, and clasp a beautiful girl in 
her arms. 

“Mother !” 

“Lora, my child !” 

“Carl, whom do you suppose this is ?” 

Carl turned very red and hesitated. Finally he bowed 
politely to Lora, and said to his wife : 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


129 


“She looks like your photograph, taken when you 
were first married. Is she your neice ? You used to 
be a nurse. She is one of your babies, I suppose !” 

Eliza grew very pale, and was silent. The tears rolled 
down her cheeks. 

“Tell him, all mother, tell him all- — I am your wife’s 
only child, Lora !” 

The lamplighter seized his wife’s arms and exclaimed 
with bated breath: “Wife, you never told me you had 
a child ! What does this mean?” 

“Oh, Carl! Forgive me! It means that I was too 
weak or too wicked to tell you. Had I told you, you 
might not have married me, and have I not been a good, 
faithful wife? And Lora is so good and beautiful. You 
will be proud of her.” 

“Who was her father,” said Carl, in a loud voice. 

Eliza and Lora shook with fear. There was. a long 
silence. 

“DoiTt you hear, woman ? Could he have been Al- 
brecht?” 

“Simon Smiley,” gasped Eliza, and fell heavily against 
her daughter. 

“Grott in Him m el !” shouted Schoenberg, in a voice of 
thunder, and rushed to the door ! Both mother and 
daughter caught hold of him. 

“You shall not go, Carl !” 

“Stay, Mr. Schoenberg, I will live with mother and 
you ! I have forgiven her, will not you?” 

At this moment, Hans entered. 

“But he has treated me like a dog ! He, the father 
of your child, you faithless to your dead husband ! I 
will have revenge !” 


130 


THE 0 WLS OF 


“Vater sei ruliig ! Deine Frau ist meine Mutter !” 
said Hans. 

“Zeh n taiisend teufeln !” Boy. do you know that your 
mother was a 

“Stop ! Carl Schoenberg,” cried Lora ! “My mother 
is a saint ! She has borne the sin of another ! You have 
no right to complain ! Hans, you are my brother, and 
F am proud of you,” and our heroine, clasping the boy 
in her arms, kissed him 

Schoenberg resumed his chair, bowed his head to the 
table, and was silent. The wife saw the tears falling 
from the eyes of the strong hearted, but generous man, 
placed her hand on his head, and said : 

“Shall we remain in your home, Carl ?” 

“Yes, Eliza,— Lora- Hans- come tome, and I will 
try and forgive him !” 

“Lora, I am a poor lamplighter, but I was a good sol- 
dier, and I earn an honest living. You may bear my 
name until you change it for a better,” said Schoenberg 
with a smile. All day they talked, laughed, wept and 
planned. Lora possessed a sweet mezzo soprano voice, 
.and under my tuition, she had learned not only to sing cor- 
rectly, but to play the piano with skill and expression. 
She advertised for a situation as music teacher, and thus 
fell into the clutches of Hawk Johnsou ! 

One of his methods for providing victims for himself 
and his pal, Dr. Smith, was to answer advertisements. 
Smith’s apartments were in McFingaTs gambling house, 
where he lived with a female associate who had borne 
him several children. Johnson responded to Lora’s 
advertisement in Smith’s name, and with his consent 
requesting her to call. She did so. was received by the 


THE A L J VA 1 H OPEN. 1 31 

doctor, introduced to the housekeeper and her children, 
one of whom, a young miss of twelve summers, was in- 
troduced as Lora’s prospective pupil. Johnson was a 
concealed witness to Lora’s first interview with the 
Smith family, and was delighted by her youth and 
beauty. 

The doctor would have proven false to his pal, had 
he dared defy both his mistress and his friend. Lora was 
promised a liberal compensation for her service, and 
suspecting no evil, became a member of the Smith family. 
Smith and his mistress often questioned Lora respecting 
her antecedents, but her uniform reply was that she 
was the lamplighter’s daughter. The poor girl could 
not tell the truth ! Whenever compelled to leave the 
building to visit her mother, or tor any other purpose, she 
wore a veil and avoided the more frequented streets. 
One evening Johnson was introduced to her by Smith, 
as an intimate and wealthy friend. The former was 
fashionably dressed, and his behavior toward Lora was 
unexceptionable. He praised her voice and begged per- 
mission to call again soon, which was granted. Not 
long after he again called upon Lora, and presented to 
her a copy of Mozart’s songs without words, arranged 
for the piano, which the unsuspecting maiden gratefully 
accepted. Both Smith and his mistress were loud in 
•Johnson’s praises, and when, at a fitting opportunity, the 
latter declared that he loved, and would marry her, 
she listened,' for at once it occurred to her that by mar- 
riage, she could secure a lawful name. She did not. 
could not love him, and so said to her mother and uncle. 
But they advised her to consent to Johnson’s proposi- 
tion. and one day she accompanied Johnson to the resi- 


132 


THE OWLS OF 


dence of a woman who was introduced as his landlady. 
A clergyman was called, and they were married. J ohnson 
declared that his wealthy parents opposed the marriage, 
objected to publicity, and the presence of Lora’s 
mother and uncle at the ceremony. For a year John- 
son, when sober, treated his wife with some show of 
affection. That he was proud of her she could not doubt. 
But he came and went at irregular intervals, and Lora 
was left in the society of several female boarders, whose 
language and demeanor so greatly shocked her, that 
finally she complained to her husband. He had re- 
turned home on this occasion at dawn, intoxicated. He 
told her to “dry up,” declared that she was no bet- 
ter than the other boarders; that she was not his wife; 
that the man who married them was Dr. Smith in dis- 
guise, and that the ladies in this house were magdalens. 
Lora became unconscious at these horrible disclosures and 
was attacked with brain fever. Johnson procured for 
her medical attendance, and when, after a long illness, 
she was partially restored, promised to marry her in due 
form. Poor Lora did not, could not inform lier mother, 
of the truth of her situation. Her mother had watched 
over her during her long illness, and had wondered 
at some of her delirious expressions, but having been 
supplied with all she required in Lora 1 a sick room, never 
suspected the true character of the house. Johnson ^ 
finally appointed a day for the marriage ceremony. It 
was the Saturday preceding our first meeting at the 
Always Opeii. The ceremony was to be performed in 
Lora’s room by a clergyman of her own selection, and 
in the presence of the servants, whom Lora had per- 
suaded to be present. The clergyman and the witnesses 


THE AL \VA VS OPEN. ■ 


133 


came, but Johnson did not appear. Poor Lora, dressed 
in her best, waited and waited. The servants began to 
deride her. The minister expressed his sympathy, and 
took his leave. The landlady whispered : “Hawk is not 
so big a fool as to tie himself to one !” and Lora, seizing 
her cloak and bonnet, darted out of the house, and fled as 
fast as possible toward Franklin street, for she had heard 
Johnson speak of Jones’ saloon. Here she found him, 
upbraided him for his treachery, and you know the 
result. 


“Then she is not married, after all, Peter. 1 ’ 

“No, thank God!” was his hearty response. “John- 
son has been arrested/’ he added, “and is out on bail!” 

“Who are his bail, do you know?” 

“Andrew McElroy and Fergus McFingal.” 

“What,” I exclaimed, “McElroy cannot justify. He 
has no property but his clothes and salary.” 

“He has sworn that he owns property worth two 
thousand dollars in real estate, and what is more, the 
deed thereof from Simon Smiley was recorded the day 
before Johnson’s arrest!” 

“ What possible relations can Smiley have with John- 
son,” I asked. 

“Smiley wants to be senator, and both McElroy and 
Johnson are politicians, you know!” 

“But,” and here I paused, “is it possible that Smiley 
knows that Lora lives and has known Johnson?” 


134 


TEE OWLS OF 


XIX. 

Another beautiful Sabbath morning. A1 night, much 
to my delight, informs me that he has not seen Peter 
since I escorted him homeward. 

“I hope he is tapering off for good, Professor/ 1 

“May God and all good angels help him. There hr 
comes now, Alnight!” 

“Peter, who is this Job Worth, of whom you have 
spoken?” 

My friend’s face at once glowed with enthusiasm. 

“The best old man — or angel — I ever met. To him 
and you shall I chiefly be indebted if ever I escape from 
the clutches of rum. I first saw him in Fort Greene 
Park one morning last October, where I have since 
often met and conversed with him. It was soon 
after sunrise, and I was pretty well set up. 
Before I knew where I was going, I found myself stand- 
ing before the tomb of the Martyrs of the Prison Ships. 
I thereupon succeeded in climbing the stone steps until 
I reached the Terrace, and saw Job under the arbor 
limping towards me, his left hand, palm outward, rest- 
ing on his hip, his right hand holding a cane. He saw 
me leaning against the gun which commands the jail, 
and to my great surprise stopped and accosted me: 

‘I am happy to meet you here at this hour; I do not 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


know yon, but you are a man and need a friend,’ said 
he with a genial smile. 

‘Bight you are— by the Great Horn Spoon — but, 
how do you know that I need a friend ?’ The smile 
on his grave face yielded to a look of pity. 

‘My son, give me your hand. 1 am old enough to be 
your father, will you go with me? I am Job Worth, 
and my home is near here. I shall not harm you.’ 

‘Why not,” said I, “can T help you, old man.’ 

‘No, but I can help you. 1 

“And, Professor, can you believe me, the good old 
patriarch — or apostle, — took me to his home, procured 
for me a strong cup of coffee, put me in a bed, and 
when I awoke — sober — it was high noon — and Job was 
sitting at my bed side. Well, he did not upbraid me. 
but made me promise not to drink until he saw me 
again at sunrise. 1 was completely overcome by his 
goodness and I said, ‘You have been a father to me, 
and I promise.’ Said lie as he dismissed me at the door: 

‘If you feel the craving come back, as you will, eat 
an orange. God bless you.’ 

“Well, 1 kept the promise and the appointment. 1 
have not drunk a drop of stimulant stronger than cof- 
fee since. Every morning when the weather is toler- 
able, the rising sun finds me on Fort Greene awaiting 
the coming of my mentor — my more than father. He 
was born in Baden, and will be eighty years old on 
the 23d day of June next. He became a privat docent 
in the Carl Rupert University, and having been engaged 
in the revolution of 1848 was forced to flee to escape 
imprisonment. He left his wife, and the greater part of 
His fortune in the care of a friend, and came to America 


136 


THE OWLS OF 


hoping to rejoin his only daughter, who, with her hus- 
band, had emigrated ten years previously, and from 
whom he had been estranged. His efforts to find her 
failed, and his cup of misfortune was filled by the news 
of the death of his wife, their infant son, and of the 
treachery of his friend, who had appropriated the mon- 
eys left w r ith him in trust. With the remnant of his for- 
tune Job Worth engaged for years in mercantile pur- 
suits, and until he could not compete with rivals, whose 
practises did not conform to his standard of honesty. 
Some investments in western lands having been very 
profitable he retired from business, and made his home 
in Brooklyn, w T here he has devoted many years to study 
contemplation, prayer and deeds of charity. He speaks 
English with a slight German accent, but he is as truly 
and fully an American patriot as if he were to the man- 
nor born.” 

When next I* met Peter he handed to me his journal, 
from which I make these extracts: 


XX. 

peter’s diary. 

October 10 . — l have resolved to enter upon a new life, 
and, thanks to Job, I may keep my resolution. Wonder- 
ful man, whose soul is filled with love to God and his 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 1 :J7 

ieliow men. He is almost eighty, wrinkled, gray and 
decrepit. He has through-lived and out-lived the little 
world of passion and the larger world of action; with a 
modest competency he left the business of making mon- 
ey to engage in the work of doing good. Having 
through the sunset clouds caught glimpses of the glo- 
rious life beyond, he remains here a few days longer to 
beckon us onward and upward. Every morning he 
visits Fort Greene, his place of holy meditation. Here 
the air is purer than in the streets below. Here are pa- 
triotic and sacred associations. Here he sees his Father 
in the opening eyelids of the morn, the stars above, 
the clear eyes of the passing innocent child, the green 
sward, the blushing rose. He hears Him in the roar of 
the thunder, the song of the bird. Here the Divine 
Spirit communicates with his, and reveals to his clari- 
fied apprehension tlie glory of the essential life of which 
the present ephemeral mortal sojourn is at once the pro- 
totype and the preparation. Nine men out often, after 
a short acquaintance with Job Worth, would pronounce 
him partially insane, but if the tenth man were high 
enough to view the exalted plain of Job’s thought 
life, he would distinguish in his transfigured counte- 
nance the indices of a noble soul, purified by sorrow, ani- 
mated by love for all, and sustained by the hope of im- 
mortality. 

October 11 . — This morning I was on the terrace at 
sunrise. Promptly the old man’s bent form appeared, 
walking through the arbor, and I ran to meet him. 

“Thank God, my son, he has given you strength,” 
was his greeting, and his clear, deeply set grey eyes 
gave me a searching glance. 


138 


THE OWLS OF 


“Shall we walk together ? v We advanced to the. slope 
of the terrace. 

“The good people of Brooklyn do not know what 
they lose by spending in bed the early morning hour,” 
said Job. “This walk and the pure air invigorate both 
soul and body. T was a sickly boy, and I am now an 
old man. True, sleep is indispensible. — nature’s sweet 
restorer — as a poet sings — but night, not day, is the time 
for rest. There is something peculiarly inspiriting in 
the rays of the newly risen sun. Moreover, my remain- 
ing days are few, and ere I escape from this old, worn 
out frame, I wish to see as much of the* sunlight, the 
trees, and flowers, and inhale as much of this pure air 
as possible. I must leave you now/’ continued he. press- 
ing my hand. “Don’t fail to come to-morrow!” 


October 12 . — I have something surprising to record. 
Last evening Ruth and I attended the Philharmonic 
concert at the Academy. I had procured front seats 
near the middle point of the arc of the family circle, the 
best in the auditorium. Ruth handed me the pro- 
gramme, and 1 read the fourth number: “Carl Friese — 
violin solo — Erinnerung an Heidelberg!’’ 

“Ruth! T’is he! — Don’t stir. 1 will be back soon!’* I 
cried. 

The manager escorted me into the Green Room where 
sat my dear master, looking almost as young as when 
we parted. 

“Mein theuer Peter!” 

“Mein lieber Carl!’ 1 

And we embraced in the German fashion, much to 
the amazement of the prima donna. 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 


139 

"Now that I see your face again, Carl, the Erinner- 
ung has become a reality!” 

u Where is your seat?” lie asked. 

I told him. 

“Well, 1 will play at as well as for you again.” 

"And after the concert you must be my guest.” He 
nodded, and 1 rejoined Ruth, who was delighted to learn 
that the violinist was indeed my old master and had ac- 
cepted our hospitality. The prima donna has ren- 
dered the Jewel song in Gounod’s Faust and has been re- 
called by the enthusiastic audience. There is a brief 
intermission. Then appears Carl Friese. He advances 
gracefully through Thomas' splendid orchestral perform- 
ers, who have been engaged to accompany the cele- 
brated virtuoso, bearing his instrument, a genuine 
Guarnerius cremona, under bis left arm. A rustle and 
then silence. The orchestra, like one grand instrument, 
begin the prelude in G major, f close my eyes, to listen 
— nevertheless I see, far in the back ground the pine 
clad summit of the Kaiserstuhl ; in the foreground the 
castle and terrace of Heidelberg ; on the right the beau- 
tiful city, and on the left the sheen of the Neckar dancing 
in the sun. And now above the chords of the accom- 
paniment come the clear, pure, passionate notes of the 
melody which for a score of years has been to me an 
open sesame of precious memories that has never failed. 
Clear, pure, sweeter, grow the tones. I open my eyes. 
Yes, he is playing at and for me! Now his deft fingers 
grasp the third position, and every string responds 
to the pressure of the bow whose diamond flashes to 
and fro. Now the melody gradually sinks into an ex- 
quisite phantasie, now again it rises through the flute 


140 


THE OU'L.S OF 


like harmonics — then dies like the faint murmur of uu 
rEolian harp. And now the master bows, amid thun- 
ders of applause, and is called and recalled, again and 


again. 

Oct. 13 . — Friese was compelled to leave us this morn- 
ing, much to our regret. I accompanied him as far as 
the southeastern entrance to Fort Greene Park, where I 
alighted from the street car and met Job Worth. 

“I hope we shall meet sometime at the gate of the 
Holy city,” said I to him, as he grasped my hand, de- 
lighted to see me again. 

“Yes, if we are ready to go in we shall meet there. 
To enter heaven with our sins, would be but hell. 
Like begets like.” 


“It is the law of being. Why, how miserable wi> 
should be to enter heaven with our passions uncon- 
trolled. When I was in Rhode Island, 1 used to catch 
shad and throw them on the bank of the river. They 
flopped and struggled in the air and could move but a 
few inches. But when I put one back into his native 
element, how he did swim away !” said he. 

“I suppose this life is a purgatory, or rather a cruci- 
ble wherein we must be purified from sin,” I observed . 

“Yes,” said he, “God’s spirit is a refiner's fire. You 
and I are undergoing the process now. Why, down in 
Providence, they make a great deal of jewelry. One- 
banker has,at least ninety thousand dollars accumulat- 
ed in the business. But how hot the fires were to 
which the ores were subjected ! And how much labor 
does not that sum represent. Yes, we must pass through 
more than one purgation before we shall see Him face to 
face. Paul had to keep his body under, lest having preach- 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


141 


ed to others, he might become a castaway. Each stage 
of life has its peculiar temptations. You have yours, I 
mine, but our Father in heaven, in His own way and at 
the right time, will bring us all at last through the 
gate of eternal life !” 

“Then you are an universalist ?” I exclaimed. 

Job, after a pause, replied: '‘If to believe that every soul 
will be better and happier out of the natural body than 
in it, makes me a universalist, then such I am. But we 
sin and must reap its fruit.” 

“But did not Christ come to save us from our sins ?” 

“Yes, thank God,” exclaimed the old man. ‘By 
teaching us how ‘to suffer and be strong/ and by set- 
ting us the example of a holy life. I cannot understand 
how one can read the parable of the prodigal son and 
believe in eternal damnation. No, my friend, it is re- 
pugnant to all I read in God’s book of nature, as well/’ 

We had now reached the summit of the hill. Turn- 
ing, I pointed toward the East and exclaimed : “What 
is that but heaven’s gate?” 

The old man gazed at the golden-edged clouds, tinted 
with rose and pink, which rested upon a slate back 
ground, that for a moment intercepted the rays of the 
rising sun, then raised his cane and described with it 
an arc in the air, and exclaimed: 

“Yes, how much these poor sleepers do lose ! We are 
but two of five hundred thousand. Well, I suppose 
they will call us eccentric as usual.” 

Last evening my servant requested permission to 
visit the Centennial Exhibition. “Come with me to- 
morrow morning,” said I to her, “and I will show you 
a more wonderful painting than was ever wrought by 


142 


THE OWLS OF 


mortal, and in colors that never fade." As Job pro- 
nounced these words, the sun rifted the clouds and 
shone full in the speaker's face. “So may the sun of 
righteousness arise and illumine our souls !” 

As we resumed our way under the maple he added : 

“Hark, the leaves rustle in the wind. November is 
at hand ; what- a beautiful tree. There is the assur- 
ance of another spring in the branches, and in that bud 
are the promise and potency of the life to come, but I find 
more in your soul speaking eye, my friend." Soon we 
reached the terrace. Job drew my attention to the 
pieces of artillery, one of which commands the approach 
to t lie jail, the other the arsenal. 

“When will men learn war no more, friend Peter ! 
Oh, when will men understand that Love is the omnipo- 
tent force that rules the universe?” 

“The citizens of Brooklyn have been very generous in 
providing a park for our morning walks and reveries," 
I observed. 

“True, but 1 pay my share” he said ! “I pay the tax- 
gatherer five hundred dollars per annum.” My face 
must have expressed surprise, for he smiled and added : 
“I have more ot this world’s good than 1 shall need. A 
few days and it will all elude my grasp, not a very 
strong hold. xA.h, here comes the washer woman ! 
Going to work again bright and early !” said Job to a 
poor washwoman, who was on the point of descending 
from the terrace to the plaza. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a courtesy. 

“That’s right, my good woman,” said Job, "Washing 
is as honorable as preaching. It is not the work but 
the motive which honors the workman.” And raising 


THE ALWAYS OPEN . 


143 


his staff, he pointed to a mansion on the avenue and 
said : -“Yonder stands the palace of a minister of the 
Gospel of Jesus, who had not where to lay his head ! 
His annual income would comfortably support the 
twelve apostles !” Down there in that prison, are men 
and women who had been useful members of society 
if a little of the money and pains devoted to the main- 
tenance of these modern, fashionable churches had been 
expended in rescuing them from sin and misery — ’] 

“This is historic ground, I suggested!” 

“Yes, little did Washington, Putnam and Greene, im- 
agine that from this spot to-day one can behold this, 
the third city of our union, and these colossal towers 
which support one of the wonders of the world — and 
one we can ill afford. And beneath us rest the bones of 
ten thousand unknown dead, the victims of the British 
prison ship,” said Job. 

“But where is the monument which was to be erected 
in their memory ?” I enquired. “On the centennial 
night a committee of twenty-five citizens was chosen to 
raise a memorial fund for that purpose. But so far as I 
can see, neither the fund nor the monument has been 
raised. We are too busy with our elevated railways and 
collossal bridges, to attend to unproductive patriotic 
duties. 

“But a union veteran mon amentum aere perennius 
exec/it, in memory of these unknown martyrs,” remarked 
Job, as he drew from his breast pocket a newspaper dated 
June 1st, 1876, and read as follows :” 

Heroic dead, assembled here to-day 
Our souls attune, that we, who yet abide 
In mortal form, your song in harmony 
May join— Glory to God, good will to men! 

Celestial symphony of Charity divine! 


144 


THE OWLS OF 


• Deck the tomb with fairest flowers 
Where the unknown heroes lie, 

Who, unyielding, chose to die, 

Faithful to their cause and ours. 

Patriot, dead, awake! Arise! 

Tell us, pilgrims at your shrine. 
Whence your strength almost divine, 
What ye more than life could prize? 

How ye, by a foeman base, 

Doomed to linger day and night, 
Wanting food, and air, and light. 
Looked death hourly in the face ! 

Ye, who bravely met your doom, 

And whose bones lay on the shore, 
Pleaching, twenty years or more, 

Kre they found a fitting tomb. 

Tell us if too much ye gave? 

Is our freedom worth its cost? 

Are our blood ana treasure lost 
Yours to win and ours to save? 

Hark ! the martyrs now reply: 

Comrades: welcome here to-day ; 
Sweet the tribute that ye pay, 

Flowers of May, the ; tear and sigh. 

Hasping in the hold for breath, 
Listening to the waves without, 

In the hulks at Wallabout 
Lay we, starving unto death. 

Gasping in the hold for breath, 
Starving near the feasting foe, 

Came the offer: Yes or no, 

British gold or certain death ! 

Certain death, not British gold ! 

Who their cause and flag betray 
Die a living death each day, 

Freemen are notjbought and s >1 1. 

Fleven thousand heroes said: 

Traitor to that flag not one ! 
Nevermore we saw the sun ! 

Eleven thousand'unknown dead ! 

v « 

* * # 

Mythic lore shows how and when 
Earth was peopled once from stones ; 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


145 


So from these brave martyrs’ bones 
Sprang an army of brave men ! 

Lo! uprising from their tomb. 

What the vision, fair to see? 

A new pledge of liberty ! 

’Tis the century plant in bloom ! 

Fratricidal strife no more ! 

Brothers all— the blue and grey, 

Greet the glad Centennial day, 

Peans sing from shore to shore. 

Banish lust for gold or power, 

Choose again an honest man, 

Place him foremost in the van, 

He the leader — his the hour! 

• Thou dear old flag, dearer than erst by far, 

No stripe obscured, a state for every star, 

Of banners all— most beautiful and best, 

The dread of tyrants, hope of the oppressed, 
From polar snows to Carribean wave 
Shalt float o'er freemen, never more o’er slave. 

Father of nations, we pray for thy blessing, 

Brought to our hearts by the Angel of Peace, 
Freely our faults to each other confessing, 

Love shall unite us and discord shall cease. 
Come as in days Pentecostal Thou earnest, 
Kindle within us theheavtnly fire, 

Show us, O Lord, how Thou mightily tamest 
Passion’s wild fury, or bidst it retire. 

Spirit of Love, Divine Source of all being, 

Enter our souls and forever remain; 

Spirits of evil already are fleeing, 

Speak but a word that they come not again. 
Bowed at the tomb of her slain, behold kneeling 
Columbia, lamenting her bravest and best, 
Chasten no longer, Thy mercy revealing, 

In Thee we trust until in Thee we rest. 



146 


THE OWLS OF 


XXL 

October 14 . — This morning, as I ascended the Terrace 
I saw Job engaged in conversation with Mrs. Schoen- 
berg! And what much surprised me was his giving her 
a kiss ere she left him. Job looked up, saw me,, and 
hesitated. W as he embarrased ? Hearing the footsteps 
of one behind me, I turned and saw a man, bearing a 
ladder, come across the plaza and ascend to the Terrace. 
Passing me he nodded respectfully to Job, who had 
joined me, and then paused to watch the park keeper 
raise the flag. 

“Friend Schoenberg,” said Job, with a merry twin- 
kle in his eyes, “Your wife often visits me* here in the 
morning! I hope you are not jealous!” 

Schoenberg turned red, looked into the old man’s 
face and said : 

“Jealous? No, of course not, but its very strange, after 
all!” 

“Is it strange that your wife should come to Fort 
Greene to see her old father?” and so saying Job held 
out his hand to the lamplighter, who stood dumb with 
astonishment, while I exclaimed, “By the great Horn 
Spoon!” 

“Friend Schoenberg, you are astonished, but listen. 
Your wife married Albrecht against my will. They 
came to this country. She corresponded with her moth- 


147 


THE ALWAYS OPEN . 

er until her husband’s death, and then for a reason 
which I need not now mention, ceased to communicate 
with us. Having failed in my efforts to trace her from 
Albany I finally believed her to be dead. She likewise 
supposed that long ago I had left the lower sphere. One 
day last month I visited the family of a poor Union sol- 
dier, living in a tenement house known as Bleeker Ter- 
race. I carried a pail of chicken soup for the children 
and some medicine for the sick veteran. As I passed 
room No. 42 I saw through its open door — well, I 
thought I saw my ivife, who has been dead forty years! 
I stopped short — and the woman looked up — our eyes 
met! ‘Who are you?’ said I. 

‘Eliza Schoenberg, sir. Will you walk in?’ 

“You look so much like my dead wife — Eliza — Just 
then I glanced at the wall, and saw an oil portrait of 
Albrecht.” 

‘My father, oh, my father — ’ . 

‘Lieschen, my child!’ Thus we met at last, my son!” 

“And so Lora is your own grandchild?” I almost 
shouted, grasping Job’s hand. 

“Yes, Peter, God bless her!” 

“You must come home with me now,” said Schoen- 
berg to Job, the former’s face beaming with delight. 

“Not now, — in a few days. You were a soldier,” said 
Job, to my surprise, willing to divert our conversation. 
“Now you are a peaceful lamplighter. But do you 
know Peter?” And thereupon Job introduced me to 
Schoenberg. 

“I always cross Fort Greene on my way home to see 
the old flag,” said Schoenberg, pointing to the star- 
spangled banner. 


H8 


THE 0 WLS OF 


u He was color bearer of the Forty-ninth Ohio in the 
war for the Union, and the first to scale the enemy’s 
earth works on Lookout Mountain, and Peter was a 
good soldier too, but on the other side. Shake hands!” 
ordered Job. 

“That was more than twenty years ago,” said I, grasp- 
ing the lamplighter’s offered hand. 

“That is right, my sons, let the blue and the grey be 
friends forever. Yes, let all the colors of our political 
spectra unite to form the strong white sun-beam of 
Liberty!” and raising his eyes to the Stars and Stripes 
floating above us, he repeated these lines: 

I would not, if I could, forget 
That twenty years ago, 

On old Virginia’s soil I met 
And fought a gallant foe. 

Who wore the grey, and who the blue, 

I care not now to say ; 

For both to cause and flag were true 
On our first battle day. 

In peace, the dead rest where they fell, — 

Accursed ghouls they, who 

Disturb a soldier's grave to tell 
If he wore grey or blue. 

No colors stand for twenty years, 

And mine have faded grey, 

And yours, all stained with Wood and tears, 

Long since were laid away. 

Then, brother mine, give me your hand 
And swear— hence forth will we 

In peace or war united stand 
Union and Liberty! 

“Who shall number the lives sacrificed, the hearts 
broken, and the treasure wasted, to enable us, on this Sac- 
red Hill, to greet that flag to-day ! And yet, what does it 
signify?” and Job turned his eyes full upon me, his face 
glowing in the rays of the morning sun — “we have over- 


THE AL WA YS OPEN. 


149 

thrown the autocracy of negro slavery, to establish the 
plutocracy of corporate monopoly. The workman, who 
creates wealth, is crushed under the burden of taxation, 
while his task-master, controlling the senate, the court, 
the press, and the pulpit, refuses to share the burden he 
has imposed. The franchises which the debauched and 
faithless representatives of the people, have granted to 
the money-kings, have became the means of making the 
rich richer, and the poor poorer. Our government, 
democratic in theory, is autocratic in fact. Our legisla- 
tors and judges are elected, but not selected, by our 
votes. A majority of one vote makes a governor or a 
president, and that one may be bought by a bribe !” 

“But,” I interrupted, “do you not paint the picture 
in colors too dark? Do you not forget the saving influ- 
ence of christitm education ? 11 

“Ah, my son ! How little does the cultivation of the 
intellect, develope the moral sence. How can good citi- 
zens be made by a system of common education which 
ignores the wants of the soul ? What resemblance does 
our modern, practical Christianity bear to that of its 
founder, the great preacher of the mount of Olives. He 
was not ashamed to work at the carpenter’s bench. Our 
children are taught to despise manual labor, and have 
ceased to honor their parents. But one-fourth of the 
inhabitants of this beautiful city of churches, attend 
the church, which is demolished to make room for a 
bridge, or abandoned for a theatre. A selfish, so-called 
individualism abolishes the family and substitutes a 
partnership wherein the interests of the husband and 
wife, naturally identical, are rendered antagonistic. 
Thus the famiy deprived of its natural head, becomes- a 


150 


THE OWLS OF 


bicephalous monstrosity, and at last ther boarding house 
supplants the home. And what is Protestant Chris- 
tianity doing to remedy these evils? Nothing, for it is 
split into various opposing sects united only in their 
opposition to Catholicism. On the other hand the 
catholic church maintains her unity, and her influence 
over the conscience and conduct of her communicants, 
whose number is rapidly increasing, by the natural un- 
prevented growth of the family, by immigration and 
conversion. But a few intelligent men and women 
who have been educated in orthodoxy, live to reject its 
tenets as irrational, and vainly seeking rest in the 
agnosticism of Ingersoll, find it in the bosom of the 
church of Rome, whose priests well understand how 
desperately the drowning wretch will clutch the prof- 
fered hand of a fellow who offers salvation.” 

\“But what can we do,” exclaimed Schoenberg, “to 
prevent the domination of Papacy in America ?” 

“What remedy have you for all the evils you have 
depicted?” I asked. 

“My friends ! Love is the remedy. The religion 
of humanity, whose God is the eternal life force — 
whose highest human manifestation was Christ, of 
whose all pervading spirit, your soul or mine is but a 
part; Who is developing Himself through all that was, 
and is, and shall be forever.” 

Job’s wrinkled face glowed with enthusiasm, and 
when he ceased I pointed to Venus, which began to grow 
pale before the coming sun, and said, grasping Job’s 
hand: 

Now the morning star of Love, 

Beams but dimly on the day, 

For through riited clouds above, 

Shines the sunlight’s stronger ray.. 


• THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


151 


Since through sorrow’s gloomy night, 
Like a beacon from afar, 

Shone thy friendship’s constant light, 
It shall be my morning star. 


XXII. 

I closed the diary, laid it on the table and retired to 
rest. At midnight I was disturbed by a loud knocking. 
Opening the door, I was astonished to see Charles and 
Andrew McElroy standing before me. Charles presented 
a pitiable appearance. His face was bruised, his eyes 
blood shot, and his coat torn and covered with mud. 

“Boss, I beg pardon,” said he, U but I’m ’lected in de 
full feller’s ship.” 

“Professor,” said McElroy, “I found this darkey in a 
row in front of a colored church, and seeing he needed 
a friend, I pitched in and rescued him. He’s been a little 
irregular in his attentions to his pastor’s wife, as near as 
I can make out.” 

I hesitated, and finally invited the* reporter to enter. 

“Now, what have you been doing, Charles?” 

“You won’t print it, Boss?” said he to McElroy. “I 
don’t want it all in de papers, like de Love well case!” 

“Oh, no, upon my honor,” answered McElroy. 

“Well, you see, bosses, I sat to-night in de church 
where I could feast my eyes on de face of Mrs. Samson 
durin’ de sermon, which was very short— and when de 


152 


THE OWLS OF 

parson denounced de benediction lie came down to where 
I was a sittin’ and says he: ‘Brudder Charles, come wid 
me,’ and he took me right to de pew where his missus 
sat. And den he put his hand into his pocket and pul- 
led out — what do you s'pose? — my letter to de missus! 
Den I felt 1 should sink frew de floor, an de missus, I 
thought she would faint, and de deacons and sisters, dey 
came around, and at first were as still as mice, till Brud- 
der Samson — he said in a gentle tone — he has a power- 
ful deep base voice: — 

‘Mary, you have gone back on me. You have broken 
de vow at de altar. You — 7 

"Den de missus rose up, and want she mad?” 

•You old hypocrite’, said she, ‘You’re gelus! You was 
born gelus! You have made me wretched with your 
gelusy — and you’re no better an I.’ 

“And den one of de sisters cried, ‘shame,’ ‘and such a 
good man too,’ said anudder. But de parson he didn’t 
get mad — not he— and what, gernmen, do you s’pose he 
did?” 

“Sat on the ragged edge of despair?” asked McElrov. 

“No, Boss, sez he to me: — 

‘Brudder Saint John. My wife, Mary, follow in de 
holy instinct of natur has been drawn from her prime- 
val love and has fixed her ’fections on a younger, and, I 
trust, a better man.’ 

‘No — no!’ interrupted several of the sisters. 

•Take her, Brudder Saint John! and may you be hap- 
pier dan I!’ 

“Well, bosses, I was so upsot, I could not speak, but 
when de parson started to go home — and de missus 
fainted dead away — free big bredren took hold of me and 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


153 


de way I did go out of dat church was like a log shot 
down a mountain — and den dis gemman come jest in de 
right time. So dose envious bredren have made ruff de 
corners of true love. What must I do? v 

“Apply to the Police Justice for an injunction,” said 
McElroy. 

“Go home and to bed at once,” 1 ordered. Much 
crest fallen, Charles left us. 

“I am inclined to the opinion that Parson Samson’s 
method of treating this case of infidelity ought to be 
generally adopted,” remarked McElroy. “But now that 
I am here, Professor,” he continued, “I hope you will 
give me a little information. You are aware that the 
Honorable Simon Smiley has secured the regular Inde- 
pendent nomination for senator in our district, and as I 
am one of his friends, I am working day and night for 
his election. I hope you will vote for him!” 

“Never,” said I. 

“Why not?” enquired McElroy. 

“For reasons both private and public.” 

“Well, now I am surprised and pained,” said McEl- 
roy, “I never heard a word said against Smiley’s char- 
acter before last evening. I was drinking a glass of 
tonic with a friend at the Always Open, when I over- 
heard a lamplighter, half seas over, threatening ven- 
geance against Mr. Smiley.” 

“What was his name?” I asked. 

“Alnight told me it was Schoenberg, and that he had 
lately taken to drinking too much wine. He said some- 
thing about his wife's daughter, and mentioned the 
name of Peter Cricket, but seeing the Horn Spoon come 
in — he’s reformed you know— the lamplighter started 


154 


THE OWLS OF 


up and sailed 'away under a full head of steam.” 

“Mr. McElroy, I refer you to your friend and candi- 
date, Simon Smiley, for information, and if he shall re- 
fuse, apply to your principal friend, Hawk Johnson.” 

“Saint Patrick — Good night sir,” said McElroy, and 
was gone. 


XXIII. 

The Reverend Samuel Scavenger and the Honorable 
Simon Smiley, on the night of the event recorded in the 
last chapter, were seated facing one another across the # 
pastor’s library table. The face of the latter was greatly 
disturbed, and that of the former anxiously expectant. 
After a long pause, during which Mr. Smiley repeatedly 
wiped the perspiration from his ” forehead, he broke the 
oppressive silence: 

“Now, Brother Scavenger, that I have made a clean 
breast of the whole matter, what can I do?” 

“You are not prepared to retire from the canvass?” 

“How can I, without assigning some sufficient reason? 
Moreover, now that you know the secret of my life, and 
the public exposure that is imminent, do you not 
want me to withdraw from your church?” 

“Do you believe that McElroy’s information is reli- 
able? Have you seen your — the young lady — Lora?” 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


155 


“No, but Mrs. Van Groot has — she called on the 
Crickets the other day to solicit a contribution from 
Ruth — the sister of that fellow they call the Horn 
Spoon — and was introduced to Lora. Mrs. Van Groot 
recognized her likeness to me — compared notes — and 
took me to task upon my return. Then there is my son 
Nicholas — just ready to enter college— I cannot endure 
the exposure.” 

“Mrs. Van Groot and your wife must listen to rea- 
son. We cannot lose you, Brother Smiley. Certainly 
you have repented your youthful error and have ever 
since been faithful to your obligations. You can provide 
for Lora in some way. Let me talk with Mrs. Van 
Groot/’ 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Smiley. 

“There is another matter,” continued the pastor, 
“which I should mention to s you. You subscribed one 
thousand for the Temple debt. I have caused your name 
to head the list with two thousand. Of course pour en- 
courager les a litres , as the French say. If there is any 
question hereafter, I will make up the difference.” 

“As you think best, Brother Scavenger. I can give no 
more now.” 

“By the way, what shall we do with O’Toole? He 
has sued our Temperance association for services.” 

“The scalawag!” exclaimed Mr. Smiley. “Have we, 
not supported him since the women brought him out? 
Let him go, if he will!” 

“Well, let him go,” assented the pastor, “but certainly 
he has reformed and we ought not to abandon him be- 
cause he cannot pay his debts. I hear you are about to 
retire from business. Well, I am glad there is one man 


156 


THE OWLS OF 


in this avaricious age who is great enough to say, T have 
got enough . 1 Very true — We should pray for O'Toole ! 1 

u And also the poor tax payers along Spend well Boule- 
vard, should pray that their assessments be reduced , 11 
said Mr. Smiley with a sardonic smile, as he rose to go. 
“Good bye, my friend; don’t forget to see Mrs. Van 
Groot . 11 

The pastor, who was evidently nettled, accompanied 
his deacon to the door, and bade him good night. As 
the latter crossed LaFayette avenue he was met by An- 
drew McElroy. 

“Have you consulted with Mr. Scavenger?” enquired 
McElroy. 

“Yes, I have just seen him. He wants me to stick. 
He thinks he can manage Van Groot,” said Smiley. 

“But how about Mrs. Smiley?” asked McElroy. 

“Oh she has known all about it for years !” 

McElroy whistled for lack of words, 

“ — and so has Van Groot,” continued Smiley, “she 
wants to ruin me. But what say the committee?” 

“They say face the music. Denounce the story for a 

campaign lie. D that Dutch lamplighter ! He has 

made you all this trouble,” said McElroy. 

“Can we rely upon Johnson in Flatbush ?” enquired 
Simon. 

“Every time, — trust me for that.” 

“Don’t you think I should see Schoenberg, and fix 
him all right, McElroy?” 

“By all means, Mr. Smiley, get a written denial from 
him, if possible!” And they parted. 


THE AL IV A YS OPEN. 


XXIV. 

Nur tier verdient den Gunst der Frauen 
Wer maechtigst sie zu schuetzen weist. 

* * * * * * * . # * * 

lie, who the strongest arms doth wield, 

And knowetli how the fair to shield, 

Alone their favor doth deserve, 

Lora had recovered her physical strength, but her 
heart was oppressed by bitter reflections. Through her 
mother’s self-sacrifice, she had been deprived of a father, 
and without fault of her own, through the commenda- 
ble desire to earn an independent living, she had fallen 
into the snare of merciless villains. It, nevertheless, 
seemed to her that in some way, she knew not how, she 
had sinned. “Is it possible,” she said to herself “that if I 
had not done wrong, the just God would thus have 
punished me? Is it possible my Heavenly Father had 
suffered me to be crushed .and wounded, and my most 
sacred impulses be made the means of my ruin?” And 
then would come the old temptation to escape from her 
friends, and return to lier mother ! But how could she 
explain to her the cause of her long absence? Music 
was Lora’s diversion from these painful and perplexing 
thoughts. One evening she sat alone in the parlor 
watching the full moon rising from the ocean. Ruth 
was engaged with Bridget, and Peter had not yet arrived 
frnn New York. Finally Lora arose, seated herself at 


158 


THE OWLS OF 


the piano, and began softly to sing to a beautiful ac- 
companiment in A minor — 

My Love, he stole my heart away, 

In grief I pine the weary day, 

Oh will he come again? 

Our plighted troth when last we met, 

His parting kiss can I forget? 

Oh, will he come again? 

They say he loves a maiden fair, 

With azure eyes and golden hair, 

And will not come again ! 

Dear Love, send back my heart to me, 

And I will keep it true to thee 
Till thou shalt come again ! 

•‘Lora, Lora, you long have had my heart ! Can you 
give me yours in exchange?” said Peter, clasping the 
right hand of the startled singer in his own, and gaz- 
ing into her face with a look of love unutterable. Lora’s 
face grew pale, for her heart had paused for a moment, 
but she was brave, and raising her eyes until they met 
Peter’s, she said in a low tone: “You know not what 
you ask ! Why would you assume the burden of my 
horrible past?” Here she was interrupted by Peter, who 
saw the tears trickle down her cheeks: 

“Lora, my child ! Don't you — can’t you love me if 
you try ?’’ 

“Peter, dearest, best of men, I need not try, I never 
loved before — ” 

What Lora was about to add was lost in the kiss 
never but once given and received. Lora withdrew 
from Peter’s embrace, saying: 

“Give me another day! I cannot now decide.” 

“Take one, no more! All night I shall dream of my 
child love, — now queen of my heart!” 


THE AL IVA VS OPEN. 


159 


“Tlien her majesty bids her faithful knight to retire, 
to sleep, — but not to dream!” said Lora with a smile. 


XXV. 

But Lora herself could not sleep — The vista opening 
before her was too beautiful to be real. She was afraid 
to sleep lest it should prove to be a dream! She arose 
with the sun— and wrote: 

“Dear Peter— Y ou will find me in Fort Greene 
Park. There 1 will decide. Lora.” 

She quietly left the house, hastened to the park — 
found a seat under the arbor and began to weep mingled 
tears of joy and sorrow. Here Job Worth found her. 

“My child,” said he, "it pains me to witness your dis- 
tress — what can I do for you ?” 

“Nothing! nothing! Sir!” exclaimed Lora, and arose 
to go. 

“My child, there is something 1 can do. Something 
unusual has brought you here at this hour.” 

“Oh, Sir, I believe you must be a good old man. Can 
vou tell me what one can do, who, without fault of her 
own is asocial outcast, -has no lawful name — ” and 
>he blushed. 

“Make a name tenfold more to be respected than that 
which any father can give you.” said Job. 


THE OWES OF 


U)0 

Lora s face brightened. 

“One is finally judged, punished or rewarded,” con- 
tinued Job, “for what he is and does himself. Do you 
need immediate aid — money?” 

“Oh no, Sir! I have kind friends — a guardian, and 
a -T-” Here she started back in surprise. “Oh, what 
shall I do? There is Peter!” 

“Do you know him?” asked Job much surprised. 

“What! Lora, you here?” and Peter, almost breath- 
less from running, seized Lora’s hand and said: “Job 
Worth, here is my ward, Miss Lora, and if she will," 
( whispered Peter in her ear,) “my wife!” 

Job made a movement as if he were about to retire. 

“No, you shall not leave us; this the most sacred, the 
happiest moment of my life— Lora, this good man, and 
the sight of your face, as well as .Ruth’s sisterly care 
and patience, have saved me from the grave of a 
drunkard — saved me for the happiness I now see with- 
in my grasp. Job, I have just now asked Lora if she 
will be mv wife!” 

Job smiled, Lora raised her head. How beautiful she 
was in the morning light. 

“Peter Cricket, would you many nobody's daughter? ’ 

“I would,” answered Peter. 

“Would you marry nobody’s daughter, who is poor —" 

“I would,” answered Peter. 

“Would you marry a poor nobody’s daughter, who 
has been cheated of all her mother could give her. 
Answer me that, Peter Cricket?” 

“My child,” interrupted Job, “It is not the motive 
that characterizes the act. The sin of another 
though visited upon you to-day, will make you in the 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


161 


end nobler and happier. I understand that through 
the villainy of others you have been foully wronged and 
therefore reject Peter’s affection. You are greatly mis- 
taken, "my child. No man or woman whose opinion is 
worth having, will respect you the less for having been 
an innocent victim.” 

“Yes. not only is Lora to me as pure and noble as 
Diana, but knowing all the facts I assert that her poor 
mother is as pure and noble as she. Say yes, Lora!” 

“Oh, Peter, Peter, T love you — you know I do — but 
— am I not already a wife?” 

Job and Peter both started back in amazement. 

Lora produced an extract from the Brooklyn News, 
containing an opinion of the Supreme Court at General 
Term, to the effect that in New York no special 
form is required to make a valid marriage and that 
the contract may be established by proof that the parties 
have publicly treated one another as husband and wife. 
Peter read it and quickly said: 

“Then you shall be divorced, Lora!” 

Job was greatly mystified and evidently pained. 

“Shall I tell him all?” asked Peter of Lora, pointing 
to Job. Lora assented and Peter related to Job the sad 
story of Lora’s acquaintance with Johnson. Long be- 
fore Peter had done, Lora saw tears trickling down the 
aged man’s wrinkled cheeks. 

“Does your mother know this, child,” earnestly asked 
Job, seizing Lora’s right hand. 

“All, except she supposes me to have been lawfully 
married. And she don’t know what he is or where 1 
was when she nursed me.” 

“Then never tell her, Lora! Peter, go to Lawyer Plead- 


162 


THE OWLS OF 




well and follow his counsel. It shall all yet be well." 

Lora, newly born hope and happiness beaming from 
her face, said to Job: 

“Dear Sir, good Sir, for all you have done for Peter 
and me, may God bless you.” 

“He does bless — he will bless me — my child," and, as 
Peter came up beside Lora. Job continued, “my friends, 
my hour is not far distant — you shall seek me one 
morning here and not find me — make me one promise, 
Peter!” 

“What is that, dob?" 

“Attend my funeral and speak of me!" 

“How can I? I am not fit!" 

“You will be fit, Peter; T ask it." 

“1 promise," said Peter bursting into tears, as Lora 
fell on his neck. 

“God bless you both forever,' prayed Job Worth. 

Lora and Peter stood beneath the maple and watched 
the old man limping slowly along until he passed 

through the easterly gate and was lost in the avenue. 

* 

“Now, Peter, let us call on mother. It is not far from 
your way, you can take the street cars to the ferry." 

And so they descended the terrace and crossed the 
plaza on their way to Schoenberg's home. The hearts 
of both were too full for utterance. Finally Lora said: 

“How unselfish, how noble you are, Peter, to take me!" 

“How unselfish, how noble was the diver, who. after 
several vain efforts, finally found a pearl of great price 
and wore it on his breast so long as he did live, Lora!" 

“I would kiss you for that, if we were not in the 
street," said Lora. 

“Keep it only a little while, darling!" 


THE AL WA VS OPEN. 


ig:j 


And now they pass under the arched way of Bleeker 
Terrace followed by a portly, well dressed gentleman. 
Schoenberg had finished his repast and was about to 
retire, when Lora entered, leading Peter. 

“Mother, Father, Hans, 1 have good news for you : 
this gentleman has asked me to be his wife and I have 
promised so to be as soon as the law will permit.” 

Mrs. Schoenberg was astounded, and unable to speak, 
while her husband remarked: 

“Can you have two husbands at once?” 

At this moment a knock was heard. Hans opened the 
door and Simon Smile} 7 entered. 

“Mr. Schoenberg,” and the speaker glancing at 
Eliza’s face, paused. 

“If you have come to order us out of the house, do so 
at once,” said Schoenberg, advancing toward Simon, 
“you would turnout a sick soldier!” 

•‘Simon Smiley, you here, and now! Carl, lock that 
door!” said his wife in a -tone of command. Schoenberg, 
astounded, obeyed, and Peter, who knew Simon by repu- 
tation, stood in speechless amazement. 

“What do you mean, madame?” asked Simon in a 
low tone. 

“Lora, my child, there stands your father!” exclaimed 
Eliza, raising her form to its full height and pointing to 
the pale and trembling landlord. Schoenberg caught 
Mr. Smiley by the throat. 

“Du verfluchter nun habe ich dich!” 

“Carl! husband! leave him to me!” 

Schoenberg released his hold. Mr. Smiley, breathless, 
sank into a chair as Lora advanced, stood by her moth- 
er's side, and addressed him: 


164 


THE OWLS OF 


“You my father?'’ 

u So she says/’ replied Simon with difficulty. 

“And what do you propose; to do about it, sir?” [ 
have now a double right to demand!” said Peter. 

“Whatever you say should be done,” said the thor- 
oughly alarmed Smiley. “I came here,” said Smiley, at 
hist recovering himself, “to inform Mr. Schoenberg that 
he might remain here free of rent so long as he pleases. 
I did not anticipate this surprise. All that lean do, sir,” 
lie continued, addressing Peter and avoiding Eliza’s eyes, 
“is to offer pecuniary compensation. I have, as you 
may know, a family, and the election takes place to- 
morrow — and if my check for one thousand—” 

“Simon Smiley!” said Eliza, unlocking and throwing 
open the door, “For what took place that terrible 
night — so long ago, I never blamed you. For your de- 
nial of me in the Magdalen’s Retreat, for your bribing 
the matron to dismiss, me and my innocent babe — who 
will soon, in spite of you, bear a lawful name — for your 
subsequent indifference to my fate, and Lora’s — and for 
this last insult, I forgive you ! Go f > 

Simon Smiley, pale and trembling, took his hat from 
Lora’s hand, gave her one beseeching look and departed. 
Eliza Schoenberg closed the door behind him and fell 
senseless to the floor. 


THE A L WA 1'S OPEN. 


ltif> 


XXVI. 

The state election took place on the following day. 
There were three tickets in the field, and the canvass 
tor Simon Smiley had been conducted by the Indepen- 
dent Committee with great skill and industry. Every- 
day since the nomination, each car that passed along 
Spendwell Boulevard bore large bills, on which was dis- 
played the handsome face of the candidate, and under 
the legend in large capitals: 

“Simon Smiley for Senator— Regular Independent 
Reform Temperance Candidate." 

The leading members of Dr. Scavenger’s church took 
an active interest in the result, and at a fair held at the 
Temple a costly Bible was awarded to the candidate re- 
ceiving the most votes — a large majority of which was 
deposited for the Temperance Candidate. But in the 
mean time Simon’s opponents were not idle. In order 
to secure liis defeat, his two opponents had agreed upon 
a course of procedure, which, they believed would be suc- 
cessful; that was the circulation of handbills printed in 
German, containing translations of Simon’s temperance 
addresses. One of these which had been left in a saloon 
caught the eye of Carl Schoenberg. Schoenberg hav- 
ing drunk his fourth glass of wine, forgot his discretion 
and divulged to his friend, the proprietor, the secret of 
Lora’s birth. In less than an hour thereafter, an emis- 


166 


THE OWLS OF 


sary of Simon’s opponents, was closeted with Andrew 
McElroy, and when the two separated the former was 
possessed of the scandalous secret, while the latter was 
a richer, if not a happier man. 

Mr. Pleadwell entered his office promptly at nine 
o’clock to find awaiting him Peter Cricket, who stated 
the facts relating to Lora’s marriage, and requested the 
lawyer’s opinion. 

“She is undoubtedly Johnson’s wife, under the deci- 
sions of our courts,” said Mr. Pleadwell. 

Peter’s heart sank within him. 

“But possibly Johnson may have had another wife, 
in which case the marriage will be annulled.” 

“How can that fact be ascertained V” inquired Peter. 

“I have been retained as counsel for Johnson on his 
trial for shooting Officer Seawell, and will insist upon 
his divulging the truth.” 

Peter went to his business in New York profoundly 
grieved and disappointed. At three, in the afternoon, 
the following dispatch was delivered to him : 

Brooklyn, Nov. 1st. 

Peter Cricket,— Johnson has confessed. He has 
another wife, and 1 have her address. 

Pleadwell. 

A severe storm which had been predicted by the Sig- 
nal Bureau reached the city as Peter started homeward. 
The rain fell in torrents. The morning came and still 
the storm continued. In Brooklyn the gutters over- 
flowed, and miniature rivers flowed into the sewers. The 
main sewer runs under Spend well Boulevard and empties 
its contents into the river near the ferry. Meanwhile the 
election proceeded. Long lines of voters, protected by 


THE AL \VA l'S Or EX. 


107 

umbrellas, stood at the polling places which the several 
candidates visited from time to time, to encourage 
their supporters. It became evident before noon that 
Simon Smiley was ahead. A t one o’clock there appeared 
at each polling place a printed circular, exposing the 
domestic skeleton of Simon Smiley’s life, and worse than 
all, an account of an interview with Dr. Scavenger, 
wherein the latter had acknowledged that his deacon 
had made to him a confession of youthful folly, but 
that he had repented, and reformed; and that he, the 
pastor, thought that the disclosure ought not seriously 
to impair the candidates chance for election. 

To the surprise and gratification of Simon Smiley’s 
friends, the returns of the Police at midnight gave him 
one hundred majority. His friends were jubilant. He was 
found in Lawj^er Plead well’s office (with whom he had 
been engaged for an hour,) brought to the headquarters 
of the Independent committee, and called upon for a 
speech. He failed to respond for the first time in his 
life. 

At one he started homeward. The storm 'was over 
' and the moon was shining. The air was crisp and re- 
freshing, and Mr. Smiley and his friend, the reporter, 
at the hitter's suggestion walked to Spendwell Boule- 
vard. The grade of the Boulevard, from the James 
street crossing, to the ferry, descends about sixty feet in 
as many rods. Simon Smiley, seeing that the cars near 
the ferry were obstructed, turned down the Boulevard 
accompanied by McElroy. A horse had fallen across 
the railway near the ferry entrance. Mr. Smiley ran to 
the middle of the Boulevard, and, standing directly over 
the man-hole of the sewer, directed the removal of the 


THE OWLS OF 


1(>8 

obstruction. The outlet of the main sewer was filled 
with the incoming tide, between which and the down 
flowing torrent the air was compressed by an irresisti- 
ble force. Suddenly Simon Smiley was thrown thirty 
feet high by a black column of fetid air, water and mud, 
which compelled Me Elroy to hold his breath to escape 
suffocation. A carriage was called and the unconscious 
form of Simon Smiley borne to his home. The house 
was not lighted, and locked. McElroy having rang the 
bell in vain, was forced to order the coachman to drive 
to the hospital, vrhere the unfortunate candidate was 
pronounced to have sustained a mortal injury. Mean- 
time a rumor had reached the ears of Dr. Heyward, the 
surgeon in attendance, that Mrs. Van Grout, Mrs. 
Smiley and Nicholas, at noon, had sailed for Liverpool 
in one of the Inman Ocean Steamers! McElroy at once 
comprehended the situation and resolved to inform his 
unfortunate friend, who had recovered his speech. He 
did so, and Mr. Smiley, with a courage and coolness that 
surprised the friends who had followed him to the hos- 
pital, requested McElroy to send for Mr. Plead well, the 
Schoenbergs, Peter and Lora. In less than an hour 
they were all found, brought to the hospital and receiv- 
ed by Mr. Plead well, who said: 

; *Mr. Smiley is very low and will soon be no more. 
His wife and son have deserted him when most he needs 
their presence. He has made his last will, wherein he 
has recognized Miss Lora as his child, and constituted 
her his sole heiress. His last request is, that she, her 
mother and intended husband, Mr. Cricket, will assure 
hirq of their forgiveness !” 

Mrs. Schoenberg trembled with agitation, and was 


THE A L tV A YS OPEN. 


169 

supported by her husband. Peter's arm sustained Lora, 
who stared at the lawyer as if entranced. A glow of 
triumph suffused the bronze face of Schoenberg. 

“This way, if you please!” 

As the visitors entered the ward where lay the dying 
man, he held out his hand. Lora seized it and sank on 
her knees. 

“We all forgive you, father!'’ 

Simon Smiley’s face grew brighter and he turned his 
eyes upon Eliza, who said: 

“Lora has spoken for all !” 

The Brooklyn News, in its report of the singular 
manner of Simon Smiley’s decease, stated that two hun- 
dred fraudulent ballots had been cast for him, in one of 
the suburban election districts, and that one of the in- 
spectors. Hawk Johnson, had been arrested. 


XXVII. 

In due time, Lora, by the aid of the supreme court, 
was enabled to reward Peter’s devotion, and J obis birth- 
day was fixed for the wedding. Job had promised to be 
one of the guests, providing the ceremony should take 
place at sunrise on Fort Greene. Peter Cricket 
called, and invited Charles and me to be present. There- 
fore, at dawn, the twenty-third day of June, we walked 
to Fort Greene, found the gate open, ascended the hill 


170 


THE 0 WL8 OF 


and stood under the maple, facing the east. Ere long 
we saw carriages stop at the eastern entrance, and from 
them alight ten persons. They paused at the gate un- 
til the well known form of Job Worth appeared, staff in 
hand. Two by two, Job leading the procession, they 
ascended the hill and joined us. At the same time there 
came up from the southwestern entrance, four poor 
laborers, one of whom bore a bouquet of fragrant flowers 
a birth-day present for their benefactor. Reverend 
Samuel Scavenger, being Ruth’s pastor, had been request- 
ed to officiate. There were formed in a semi-circle 
under the maple, Job Worth, Dr. Heyward, Peter and 
Lora, F riese and Ruth, Carl, Eliza and Hans, the four 
workmen, Charles and myself. As the sun arose the 
man holding the bouquet, presented it to Job, saying : 
u We have come to congratulate you, sir, on your birth- 
day, and to ask you to accept these flowers as a token 
of our gratitude for your kindness to our families when 
in distress. ’ 

“May God bless you/’ said Job. his voice tremb- 
ling, as he stepped forward to the clergyman’s side 
and faced the company. “My friends,” he continued, 
“Eighty years of. my life-course are now complete, and 
ere I depart, I am permitted to witness the union of a 
dear friend with the daughter of my only child.’* 

“Yes, Lora darling.” cried Eliza, flinging herself into 
her father’s embrace, ‘Tt is your own grandfather, 
Wilhelm Yon Friese of Baden.” 

Lora, fearing for her mother’s sanity, clung more tight- 
ly to Peter’s arm, while Carl Friese, pale with emotion, 
stepped forward and producing a photograph, addressed 
Job Worth : 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 171 

“Sir, if you are Wilhelm Yon Friese of Baden, 1 am 
your son !” 

“I am Yon Friese, but my wife and son were buried in 
the same grave.” 

“Look at that !” said Carl Friese. 

Job Worth took the picture and gazed at it, but his 
sight was dim, and Eliza first recognized the face and 
cried : 

“My mother ! My brother !” 

Eliza embraced her newly found brother, and Job, 
almost overwhelmed, the son he had never before seen, 
and Lora her brother and grandfather, while tears ran 
down the cheeks of the warm-hearted parson, as 
well as those of every person present, not excepting 
Peter, who produced several “Great Horn Spoons,” ere or- 
der was restored, and Job indicated by raising his hand 
that he desired the ceremony to proceed. 

“I will give away the bride !” said Job at last to the 
clergyman. 

“There are two, by the Great Horn Spoon,” said 
Peter. 

“Let the contracting parties step forward,” said the 
clergyman. 

And to the amazement of all present, except Peter 
and Lora, (who first advanced) they were followed by 
Carl Friese and Ruth Cricket, while Job (for so we will 
call him to the end) was heard to say: “God be praised,” 
and the minister proceeded to unite the two couples 
by the beautiful rite of the Episcopal church. This done 
Job raised his closed eyes to Heaven, and as the old 
man prayed, we all reverently bowed the head. 

“Father in Heaven ! Thou has brought these, thy 


172 


THE OWLS OF 


children, together through great tribulation. Crown 
their mutual loves with enduring happiness. May the}^ 
all become workers in thy vineyard, until Thou shalt 
call them to Thyself.” 

The old man paused. His face became transfigured 
in the rays of the risen sun. Then he would have fallen 
had Peter not caught him in his arms. A sweet smile 
stole over Job’s wrinkled face. 

“At last ! ’Tis done ! Farewell, my children, Carl, 
Lieschen, Peter, Lora — all — Mother, I come ! 

Job Worth had bidden us the long farewell, and the 
mother, whom he, a child, had lost, and with whom he 
had held sweet converse in his visions by night, was the 
first to greet him on the shining shore. 

Here ends the Professor’s MS. 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


1 




EPILOGUE. 

I took the steamer, Elm City, for New York, and had 
read Professor Owler’s manuscript ere I retired to my 
state-room. The following evening Dr. Heyward and I 
called on Peter Cricket. As we approached his home our 
attention was attracted by music, evidently performed 
on a string quartette. 

“Carl Friese is there,” said the doctor. “There is 
but one man in Brooklyn, who can play the Erinner- 
ung Its composer, and Lora’s accompaniment is 
perfect.” 

I nodded assent, and we stood at the door until the 
music ceased. Bridget, now grey-haired, answered the 
bell and ushered us into the library, where Peter Cricket 
soon appeared. 

“I am glad to see you here Mr. May, and especially to 
see you with Dr. Heyward!” 

“Well, Peter, I. have news of Professor Owler,” said 
the Doctor, sadly. 

“What ! Where is he? Is he ill?” 

“He will collect no more specimens !” 

“You don t mean that he is dead?” The doctor bowed 
and in a few words I described the sad scene 1 had wit- 
nessed in New Haven. Peter was deeply affected, and 
turned aside to hide his emotion. 


171 


THE OWLS OF 


“Gentlemen,” said he at last, pointing to a portrait 
of Job Worth, which hung over the mantle piece, 
"Then, ere this, the Professor has met himjwho will not 
see a soul die of hunger, by the Great Horn Spoon ! 
But pardon me, gentlemen, we have a young Rich- 
ard Owler in the parlor. Come and see the baby ! 
When [ hist saw him, he was riding the Great Horn 
Spoon 

And here let us leave Peter in the enjoyment of love 
and friendship. 

It remains for me briefly to record certain matters 
respecting other persons, who have figured in the pre- 
ceding pages. 

Peter Cricket, true to his promise to Job Worth, at 
the funeral of the good old man, addressed a large num- 
ber of poor people, who had assembled to pay to their 
benefactor their last tribute of gratitude. And 1 was 
told that Peter discoursed so eloquently upon the 
Religion of Humanity, of which he declared Job to have 
been an exemplar, that almost all present supposed the 
speaker to be a learned preacher, instead of plain Peter 
Cricket. 

Abel Alnight remains at bis post in the Always Open. 

Hawk Johnson was tried for his offense, but escaped 
conviction through a disagreement of the jury. Upon 
being warned by the court not to resume his evil ways, 
lie promised to reform, and astonished all who knew 
him by keeping his promise. 

General O’Toole became an ardent supporter of Dr. 
Crosby’s sect of moderate abstainers, abandoned his old 
avocation of spy, and secured by his efforts the pas- 
sage of laws severely punishing the sale of adulterated 


THE ALWAYS OPEN. 


175 


liquors, providing for the inspection of all potables 
offered to the public, abolishing the license laws, en- 
couraging the production and consumption of light 
wines, as a substitute for distilled liquors, increasing 
the police force of Brooklyn, and holding the municipal 
authorities personally responsible for any damage result- 
ing from a public disturbance of the peace, proximately 
caused by the abuse of alcoholic stimulants. 

McFingal and Smith may now and then be seen 
passing through an alley, leading to the former’s abode. 
Their end remains to be seen. 

Charles found a friend in Peter, and was admitted as 
a student of Howard University. 

The lamplighter in 1879, leaving his wife to aid her 
daughter in training up Richard 0. Cricket, in the way 
he should, but would not go, accompanied by his son, 
emigrated to Seattle, that wonderful young city on 
Puget Sound. 

During the session of the legislature, Andrew Mc- 
Elroy may be found in Albany, where his compensation 
for services as a clerk of one of the House committees, 
and as the News correspondent, enables him to spend 
the summer vacation at Lake George, in the society of 
certain municipal statesmen, who, for many years and 
until their tide of fortune ran too low, selected the 
rulers of Brooklyn. 

Sergeant Sharp has been retired on a pension. Carl 
Friese has been elected as the director of the New York 
Conservatory of Music. Doctor Heyward, to whom T 
am indebted for many of the details here recorded, is 
still in full practice, and to me seems as young as when 
we clasped hands on East Rock so many years ago. 


176 


THE OWLS OF 


Now and then one may find in the News correspon- 
dence from Paris a notice of the fashionable and 
wealthy American widow, Madame Smiley , whose salon 
is the favorite resort of her countrymen sojourning in the 
French capital. Nicholas, having been graduated at 
great expense from a famous college, is now making 
his grand tour in Europe. He is accompanied by an 
accomplished courier and is regarded by watchful 
mamas as a grand parti. 

Reverend Samuel Scavenger is still floating on the 
full tide of fortune. He has proposed to connect the 
Temple with every house in Brooklyn by means of the 
telephone, in order to accommodate the one half million 
souls who cannot obtain seats in the auditorium. A 
rival, who may eclipse the Temple star, has arisen in the 
brilliant person of an honest patriot and eloquent ora- 
tor, whose frank agnosticism and keen satire are quite 
as instructive, and far more agreeable than Mr. Scav- 
enger’s realistic portraitures. 

And now, patient reader, if at any time you almost 
despair of the final triumph of Truth over Error, Right 
over Wrong, — of your own escape from evils within and 
without, — forget not that when the day comes, the Owls 
leave the Always Open ; some like Peter, to be aided by 
a Christian Job, to a nobler and happier life; others, for 
lack of sympathy and support, to fly from the light in- 
to the deeper and darker recesses of the wilderness of 
* sin — and that, in helping your weaker brother or sister, 
you shall grow stronger and happier, until you reach 
the golden gate, which, to those who are prepared to 
enter, is Always Open. 


THE END. 









♦ ^ %■ • 




* G * j 


4 


♦ ,K <r> .0 ^ <y 

\> S s**, O <9 * i o * ^ V V v - 

° YZ/MWi' *&■ 

^ °. er & ^ A ^ ^ 'o\ \ 

V . c _r<^v> '+_ C v ° ,4 



<* * /'-y., ' 

^ ^ I 

vH&‘ _ ^ \ 


^ -V* - , 

<y „<*<>.. <? v 1 ..••-*< 

^ c / v,** • 



sy •.'W'/ y > \'%x#'s «y % *> - -. 

« V C° °o . 

; -■‘O' 

> Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 

Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 

■’ ,0' ^ '..o* ^ T_D„e : ^ 

a 0 ** # °' ^ V • 




BARKEEPER 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
Ill Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 

.V / 


A O 



VA 




C> c 0 " 0 ♦ 

* O ♦ 

> *• \ N * 

**; v* » 

^ o \0 *7*. 

> o V <#■* 


cfi ^ o 
* <.? 

•% <1 V 

* 0^ ^ 



\0 *7\ 

» ^ <t 

0 (O <£► *” *. . * "0* 

^jSSggK '■* jk <0 (> ' ’ ° /■ ^ ^ 

^ \ ^ v&Sk*. % ^ f 

1^/32084 * S$&ty/0L* V\ V 

; „7"V 


•» 6 3 j * o w o 

AUGUSTINE 


•yw* ** ** 





